THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


PROMISE 


PROMISE 

The  central  figure  of  the  book  is 
a  young  musical  genius,  half  English, 
half  French,  and  the  author's  aim  is 
to  illustrate  by  means  of  incidents  in 
his  life  the  futility  of  all  attempts  to 
control  artistic  impulse.  The  five 
divisions  of  the  story  show  how  the 
Child  of  Promise  is  affected  by  the 
various  persons  with  whom  he  is 
brought  into  contact. 


PROMISE 


BY 


ETHEL  SIDGWICK 


BOSTON  :   SMALL   MAYNARD  fef  COMPANY 
LONDON.   SIDGWICK    fcf   JACKSON  LIMITED 

1912 


Second  /atfrtssion 


Printed  in  England 


TO  Mr  FATHER 


524964 

LIBRARY 


CONTENTS 

FACE 

Part     I.     HENRIETTE  (Prologue)      .     .  i 

Part   II.     HUNTLY 75 

Part  III.    NICK 145 

Part  IV.     PHILIP 257 

Part    V.     JAMES 355 


I.  HENRIETTE 
(PROLOGUE) 


WHEN  Henriette  Lemaure  married  James  Edgell, 
whom  she  had  met  by  chance  at  a  watering-place 
in  Brittany,  opinion  as  to  her  reasons  was  divided. 
Those  who  knew  her  best  said  that  she  did  it  to 
annoy  her  father.  Those  rather  less  acquainted  with 
her  said  that  it  was  nothing  but  love  of  effect,  a  thing 
to  which  all  the  Lemaures  were  prone.  Those  who 
knew  her  least  of  all,  the  casual  public  who  looked 
on  at  the  proceedings  of  the  pair  by  the  sea  at  St. 
Aviel,  gave  the  simpler  reason  that  she  had  fallen  in 
love  with  Jem  ;  and  it  is  probable,  as  not  unusually 
happens,  that  absent  theorists  were  wrong,  and 
ignorant  onlookers  were  right. 

As  for  the  reasons  of  her  falling  in  love,  they  were, 
for  the  theorists,  further  to  seek.  Jem  belonged  to 
a  nation  with  whom,  Henriette  had  frequently 
declared  to  everybody,  she  had  no  patience.  He 
was  more  than  twice  her  age,  for  she  was  still  under 
twenty  when  he  met  her  first.  He  was  poor  and 
quite  undistinguished,  for  his  work  lay  on  the  railway 
which  was  to  open  up  that  portion  of  the  coast,  and 
draw  throngs  of  the  bourgeois  and  the  English  to  its 
summer  resorts.  He  loved  her — but  then  that  was 
not  unheard  of  in  a  man  who  had  access  to  a  week 
of  Mile.  Lemaure's  holiday  society.  Most  of  the  men 
of  her  party  were  her  adorers,  and  it  was  understood 
by  those  who  knew,  that  she  was  half-betrothed  to 
Raymond  Savigny,  the  rising  scientist,  whom  her 
father  wished  her  to  marry.  It  may  have  been  that 

3 


4  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Jem's  solemnity  and  solidity  enticed  her  to  his  con- 
quest :  for  he  left  her  in  doubt  as  to  the  state  of  his 
feeling  seven  when  she  caused  him  to  suffer  most  ; 
and  to  the  minute  of  his  offering  himself,  she  was  not 
sure  if  he  really  cared  for  her  at  all. 

Perhaps  no  man  of  the  many  Henriette  had 
practised  upon  was  ever  so  tormented  as  Jem,  during 
those  wonderful  days  of  public  encounters  and 
stolen  meetings  ;  but  he  bore  it  with  hardly  a  sign, 
and  Henriette  declared  fifty  times  to  her  dearest 
friend  of  the  moment  that  she  detested  him.  All  the 
same,  she  accepted  him  in  a  whirl  of  joy,  and  told 
him  to  follow  her  to  Paris  as  soon  as  possible,  that 
she  might  enjoy  the  distressing  effect  of  his  appear- 
ance there  on  her  father,  her  brothers,  and  more 
particularly  Dr.  Savigny. 

Henriette  came  of  a  noted  family  of  artists,  and 
herself,  though  the  youngest  of  the  Lemaures,  was 
not  undistinguished.  She  had  lately  passed  bril- 
liantly out  of  the  Conservatoire,  and  had  given  one 
concert  to  a  public  which  thronged  to  hear  her  play, 
largely  for  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  her  ;  for  her 
beauty  was  of  the  direct  and  vivid  type  which  takes 
all  tastes  equally  ;  and  even  her  women  rivals 
granted  it,  while  they  added  that  she  was  a  shrew 
who  would  shortly  break  her  wonderful  father's 
heart. 

However,  not  a  little  to  his  daughter's  disappoint- 
ment, M.  Lemaure  liked  Jem,  though  there  is  no 
doubt  that  he  suffered  some  distress  and  anxiety  over 
the  affair.  Henriette  had  explained  to  her  lover  with 
such  a  wealth  of  coloured  detail  the  difficulties  Which 
stood  in  his  path,  that  it  seemed  a  runaway  match 
was  the  one  possible  course  with  a  family  of  tyrants 
such  as  she  represented  ;  and  he  was  more  than  a 
little  amazed  to  find  her  father  both  dignified  and 
considerate  to  him  ;  only  a  little  distracted  and 


HENRIETTE  5 

concerned  for  the  friend  of  his  who  loved  Henriette, 
and  whom  she  had  treated  so  carelessly. 

Henriette  for  her  part  had  a  vague  idea  that  if  she 
provoked  Jem  and  Raymond  sufficiently,  a  duel 
might  come  of  it,  which  would  figure  in  the  papers, 
and  so  finally  succeed  in  infuriating  her  eldest 
brother,  who  was  on  the  whole  the  person  whom  of 
all  she  preferred  to  annoy  ;  for  in  the  intervals  of 
breaking  his  heart  she  adored  M.  Lemaure,  who  had 
been  father  and  mother  in  one  to  her,  as  well  as 
teacher  in  chief  ;  and  who  had  spoilt  her  with  the 
same  fine  delicacy  and  thoroughness  which  distin- 
guished other  arts  in  his  hands. 

But  Dr.  Savigny,  like  the  rest  of  Henriette's  men, 
did  not  quite  rise  to  the  part  assigned  to  him.  He 
withdrew  silently,  and  plunged  into  dismal  vistas  of 
medical  research,  where  Henriette  abandoned  him 
gladly.  And  she  married  Jem  in  triumph,  after 
having  succeeded  in  luring  him  into  a  few  acrid 
disputes  with  her  brother  Lucien,  which  afforded  her 
much  mischievous  delight  ;  for  Lucien  regarded 
himself  in  the  family  as  the  one  serious  critic  and 
protector  of  his  little  sister,  though  Henriette  had 
taken  the  trouble  frequently  to  assure  him  in  words, 
and  prove  to  him  in  actions,  that  her  taste  was  neither 
to  be  criticised  nor  protected. 

M.  Lemaure  the  elder  concealed  his  misery  at 
parting  with  her,  although  he  knew  that  her  exile 
might  be  prolonged  ;  for  James  had  the  trick  of 
talking  of  the  world  as  his  home  ;  had  already 
wandered  much,  and  would  in  all  probability 
wander  more  when  the  business  of  the  Breton 
railway  was  completed  ;  and  Henriette  thought 
Jem's  talk  of  distant  lands  most  delightful  and 
original,  and  was  convinced  that  she  would  shine 
in  the  society  of  either  Cairo,  Japan,  or  Mexico,  if 
necessary.  Indeed  she  saw  herself  with  pleasure  in 


6  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Spanish  costume  on  horseback  in  the  latter  country  : 
and  had  already  promised  Lucien  a  photograph. 

"  Of  course,  darling,"  said  Henriette  with  tears  to 
her  father  at  parting,  "  your  menage  will  go  to  pieces 
without  me  :  as  you  never  even  remember  which 
meal  it  is  unless  I  tell  you,  especially  when  you  are 
writing.  But  it  is  better  than  if  I  had  run  away  with 
him,  as  I  very  nearly  did,  without  consulting  you  at 
all,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Evidently  ;  "  her  father  gently  answered,  "  since 
this  way  I  have  the  pleasure  of  M.  Edgell's  acquaint- 
ance :  and  the  still  more  exquisite  pleasure,  dearest, 
of  buying  you  a  trousseau." 

"  Precisely,"  said  Henriette,  embracing  him  :  wept 
bitterly  in  his  arms  for  some  minutes,  and  left  him. 
It  was  a  little  consoling  after  all  in  her  anguish  to 
reflect  upon  her  new  clothes,  and  to  know  that  her 
dearest  rival  at  the  Conservatoire,  Suzanne  Schindler, 
was  grinding  her  teeth  with  jealousy  in  the  third 
row  at  church. 

After  that  M.  Lemaure  saw  no  more  of  Henriette, 
as  he  expected,  for  a  long  time.  He  was  old,  and 
very  busy  with  his  playing,  teaching,  and  writing  ; 
and  James  was  poor,  and  could  not  afford  long  jour- 
neys for  himself  or  his  family.  So  that  the  father 
had  to  be  content  with  letters,  most  irregular  and 
unconventional,  like  all  things  connected  with 
Henriette,  but  brimming,  when  they  came,  with 
love  to  him,  and  pride  in  the  new  interests  and 
possessions  of  her  home  in  Brittany. 

It  seemed  that  the  possession  which  interested 
her  most,  as  time  went  on,  was  a  certain  baby  :  of 
which  Henriette  talked  with  pleased  surprise,  as  of 
a  new  and  slightly  alarming  toy.  It  had  been  a 
great  trouble  to  her  on  its  arrival,  but  she  grew  used 
to  it ;  and  presently,  as  it  came  through  the  ailments 


HENRIETTE  7 

of  its  earlier  years  into  comparative  health  and 
beauty,  she  began  to  boast  about  it  vigorously, 
comparing  it  with  other  children  she  had  seen, 
immensely  to  their  disadvantage.  Coming  through 
that  stage  again,  the  baby  became  a  very  trouble- 
some small  boy,  closely  resembling,  as  far  as  M. 
Lemaure  could  gather,  in  precocity  and  ingenuity, 
a  certain  small  girl  he  had  known.  At  this  stage 
his  scapegrace  daughter  grew  exultant,  and  detailed 
with  enthusiasm  the  hand-to-hand  conflicts  of  Phil 
and  his  father  ;  in  which,  according  to  her  view, 
Philip  frequently  got  the  best  of  it — at  any  rate 
morally  ;  though  Jem  had  a  way,  physically,  of 
retaining  the  upper  hand. 

There  was  another  baby,  but  it  was  evidently 
rather  an  anti-climax,  coming  when  Philip  was 
nearly  six  years  old,  and  at  his  very  best  and  most 
reprehensible  period.  It  was  a  healthy,  good  little 
thing,  apparently,  and  Jem  was  ridiculously  fond  of 
it,  owing  no  doubt  to  his  English  taste  for  what  was 
"  proper,"  which  Henriette  was  always  throwing  up 
against  him.  When  Henriette  brought  Philip  to 
Paris,  at  eight  years  old,  it  is  quite  probable  that 
she  would  have  left  Bebe  at  home  with  the 
bonne,  had  not  Jem  insisted  on  his  accompanying 
them. 

For  a  glorious  and  memorable  week  Henriette 
resumed  her  old  position  of  housekeeper  and  spoiled 
child  in  her  father's  appartement,  with  the  extra 
diversion  by  the  way  of  showing  off  her  beautiful 
firstborn  to  her  former  circle  of  friends  and  adorers ; 
and  Philip  had  poured  upon  his  young  head  an 
amount  of  admiration  which  would  have  wrecked  a 
less  level-headed  youngster  for  life.  And  in  the 
meantime  the  "  proper  "  Bebe  played  a  trick  upon 
his  mother  behind  her  back,  by  taking  possession 
of  his  grandfather's  heart  as  he  had  of  his  father's 


8  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

already  :  and  by  holding  that  citadel,  with  a  firm- 
ness astonishing  at  his  age,  against  all  comers.  M. 
Lemaure  would  hardly  let  the  child  out  of  his  arms ; 
yet  it  was  not  at  all  Henriette's  image  that  he 
saw  in  her  child's  face;  but  something  nearer  and 
stranger  still,  some  quick  thrill  of  sympathy,  which 
even  then,  before  the  child  could  properly  speak, 
or  receive  the  impression  of  speech  from  others, 
linked  grandfather  and  grandson  with  a  bond  of 
felt  communion.  And  it  was  an  uprooting  when 
the  inevitable  parting  came,  that  the  old  man 
mourned  like  a  double  desertion :  that  of  the 
daughter  he  had  recovered,  and  of  the  grandson  he 
had  found. 

It  was  not  for  some  little  time  after  this  that  Be"be 
became  interesting  in  his  turn  ;  and  it  was  then, 
curiously  enough,  in  the  way  that  Henriette  least 
expected. 

She  had  been  determined  from  the  first  to  make 
Philip  a  musician.  It  was  so  obvious  that  he  ought 
to  be,  that  it  was  long  before  Henriette  would 
believe  the  evidence  of  her  own  eyes  and  ears. 
She  bent  herself  to  the  task  with  a  whole-hearted 
enthusiasm  which  seemed  certainly  quite  copious 
enough  for  two  ;  but  do  what  she  would,  she  could 
never  inspire  him  with  her  soul.  Her  creed  he 
accepted — critically.  Philip  was  always  critical, 
even  in  his  earliest  years.  He  was  terribly  reason- 
able, incorrigibly  serene  over  his  music,  and  would 
watch  his  mother's  reverent  fervour  with  a  sort  of 
inquiring  sympathy  that  made  her  fling  her  arms  in 
the  air,  at  her  wit's  end  whether  to  laugh  or  cry. 
He  played  little  duets  very  nicely  with  her  at  seven 
years  old,  having,  as  she  often  declared,  a  pair  of 
hands  that  were  wasted  upon  him  ;  not  to  mention 
a  lively  intelligence,  and  a  patient  devotion  to  her 


HENRIETTE  9 

that  was  really  touching  in  such  a  hot-headed,  tem- 
pestuous little  sinner  as  Philip  was  at  this  age. 

But  the  day  came  when  she  turned  upon  him 
with  her  final  benediction.  At  the  end  of  an  excel- 
lent and  careful  performance  she  kissed  him  with 
great  solemnity  :  and  then  advanced  to  James, 
indicating  the  performer  with  her  outstretched 
bow  :  "  Take  him,"  said  Henriette.  "  He  is  yours, 
not  mine.  He  is  a  good,  dear,  clever  boy  ;  but  he  is 
a  born  amateur." 

And  from  that  day  forward  she  turned  to  concen- 
trate her  hope  and  attention  on  the  second  child. 

Almost  as  soon  as  she  did  so  she  made  discoveries. 

She  broke  the  great  news  in  a  single  letter  of 
triumph  to  her  father  when  the  child  was  three  ; 
and  M.  Lemaure  smiled  over  it,  and  refrained  from 
informing  her  that  he  had  discovered  it  himself  at 
least  a  year  before.  He  had  watched  the  little 
Antoine  on  his  knee  one  evening  while  Lucien  was 
playing,  and  while  Henriette,  always  impatient  of 
her  brother's  performance,  was  attending  to  visitors 
and  Philip.  He  did  not  tell  his  daughter  then  for 
his  own  reasons  ;  perhaps  having  pity  upon  the 
sensitive  ear  and  tender  spirit  of  two  years  old,  if 
the  whirlwind  of  the  mother's  unguarded  raptures 
should  then  fall  upon  it.  Instead  he  treasured 
quietly  the  truth  he  had  discovered,  and  waited  ;  so 
certain  of  it,  however,  that,  as  his  daughter  dis- 
covered much  later,  he  actually  bought  a  beautiful 
little  violin  that  happened  to  come  his  way,  and 
saved  it  for  the  moment  when  it  should  be  called 
for. 

He  answered  Henriette's  letter  instantly  with  one 
of  almost  severe  advice,  the  wisdom  of  which  she 
exalted  high  to  her  husband  as  she  read,  and  which 
she  prompt \y  forgot  or  ignored  in  her  dealings  with 
Antoine  when  it  failed  to  hit  the  precise  humour  of 


10 

the  moment.  For  a  time  she  was  charmed  with 
this  neglected  toy  of  hers,  and  tried  every  conceiv- 
able experiment  upon  him,  ear  and  nerves  ;  until 
James  himself  stepped  down  and  intervened  ;  for 
there  was  to  his  reasonable  eye  an  imminent  possi- 
bility of  the  child  growing  to  loathe  the  thing  that 
affected  him  so  strangely,  and  which  was  thus  con- 
tinually forced  upon  his  attention,  in  and  out  of 
season.  Henriette  pouted  a  little  at  not  being 
allowed  to  show  him  off  to  the  extent  she  wished 
among  her  friends,  as  she  had  previously  shown  off 
Philip.  But  though  she  flouted  Jem's  remarks  on 
the  subject,  telling  him  he  knew  nothing  about  such 
matters,  she  had  some  regard  to  his  opinion  when  he 
did  choose  to  express  it  ;  and  after  one  or  two  crises 
with  the  child,  she  pursued  investigations  more 
gently,  though  not  with  less  excitement. 

His  ear,  there  was  no  doubt  at  least,  was  most 
delicate  and  perfect.  He  felt  through  his  ear — it 
was  in  that  way  that  emotion  naturally  reached  him. 
He  had  at  times  the  listening  look  that  is  generally 
seen  in  the  faces  of  the  blind,  though  he  possessed  a 
pair  of  dark  eyes  that  were  bright  and  quick  enough 
to  see.  Especially  out  of  doors  this  still  look  would 
come  to  him.  A  rising  lark  in  the  fields,  the  bees  in 
the  fuchsias  in  the  garden,  the  rustle  of  the  poplars 
in  the  wind — best  of  all  to  Antoine,  the  sigh  of  the 
sea  upon  the  shore,  were  so  many  vivid  joys  to  him, 
just  as  a  harsh  voice  or  a  sudden  noise  was  pain.  A 
storm,  common  enough  on  their  coasts  in  the  winter 
time,  with  the  grating  crash  of  the  waves  on  the 
beach  and  the  hurrying  howl  of  the  wind,  was  an 
excitement  almost  too  great  to  be  borne  ;  and  a 
thunderstorm  was  all  his  life  no  less  than  agony. 

The  power  of  her  own  playing  upon  him  the 
spoiled  artist-mother  soon  discovered.  Henriette 
had  an  incorrigible  habit  of  practising  her  powers 


HENRIETTE  II 

upon  every  mortal — man,  woman,  or  child — who 
crossed  her  path.  No  matter  whether  the  weapon 
she  chose  for  the  purpose  were  her  beauty,  her  wit, 
her  art,  or,  for  want  of  anything  better,  her  temper, 
conquer  she  would  by  one  means  or  another.  Her 
husband  and  her  rebellious  elder  son  were  happily 
under  the  sway  of  her  beauty  and  spirit  combined  ; 
and  the  same  weapons  would  have  been  more  than 
sufficient  to  quell  the  younger,  even  had  he  needed 
quelling.  Yet  Henriette  had  found  a  new  sceptre 
in  her  bow  :  and  she  used  it  now  to  soothe  him, 
and  now  to  excite,  often  careless  herself  completely 
as  to  which  she  was  doing,  or  why  she  was  doing 
it. 

Henriette  had  an  admiring  friend,  a  Russian 
princess,  at  the  neighbouring  chateau  to  their  village, 
and  she  was  constantly  there  to  play  to  her  and  be 
petted.  Jem  endeavoured  to  prevent  her  taking 
the  children,  for  the  crowd  of  fashionable  folk  that 
came  and  went  there  in  the  summer  time  seemed  to 
him  the  worst  society  possible  for  impressionable 
babes  such  as  his  ;  and  he  would  gladly  have  kept 
clear  of  them  entirely  had  Henriette  permitted  it. 
But  she  had  been  accustomed  to  company  and  ad- 
miration before  her  marriage,  and  now,  when  a  chance 
of  such  presented  itself,  flew  to  it  instantly  like  the 
pretty  moth  she  was. 

Jem  kept  a  clear  picture  long  afterwards  of  a  cer- 
tain night  when,  returning  late  and  weary  from  his 
work,  he  found  her  resting  from  a  campaign  at  the 
chateau,  where  she  had  spent  the  day  with  Antoine. 
She  was  in  radiant  good  humour,  for  she  had  been 
a  great  success,  and  had  displayed  a  new  dress  to 
advantage.  The  dress  and  the  good  humour  she 
promptly  used  to  practise  upon  Jem  in  turn  ;  and 
he  had  no  objection,  so  long  as  he  was  allowed  to 


12  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

eat  his  supper  and  smoke  while  the  exhibition  pro- 
ceeded ;  but  later,  when  he  went  upstairs,  he  found 
her  practising  upon  Bebe,  and  that  pleased  him 
less. 

Excitable  child  as  he  knew  her  to  be,  Jem  was 
never  hasty  with  her.  He  watched  her  for  some 
time  amusing  herself  with  her  live  plaything  before 
he  intervened.  She  was  so  lovely  to  watch  that  he 
was  often  tempted  to  remain  spectator  longer  than 
he  should. 

Bebe,  already  overdone  with  a  long  day's  outing, 
had  been  roused  by  her  talking  below  ;  and  Hen- 
riette,  passing  into  the  smaller  room  out  of  hers 
where  he  slept,  had  discovered  him  sitting  crying  in 
the  dark.  She  picked  him  up  and  scolded  him  a 
little,  and  presently  her  presence,  or  the  presence  of 
the  kind  steady  lamp  Jem  brought  upon  the  scene, 
took  effect. 

"  Well,  what  are  we  to  do  ?"  said  Henriette,  con- 
sidering amusements  open  to  herself  and  Bebe,  not 
without  an  eye  to  James  as  audience.  "  Tell  you 
a  story,  eh  ?  I  tell  stories  very  nicely  about  wolves 
and  bears.  Not  that,  silly  ?  What  then  ?  Play  you 
a  tune  ?  ' 

The  little  hands  clutched  her  ;  she  lifted  her 
laughing  eyes  to  Jem,  who  shook  his  head  simply. 

"  Well,"  soliloquised  Henriette,  chin  in  air, 
"  one  of  maman's  quiet  tunes  ought  to  send  him  to 
sleep,  if  he  is  a  nice  little  proper  boy,  oughtn't 
it?  " 

Bebe,  thus  appealed  to,  nodded  fearfully. 

"  Sit  there,"  said  Henriette,  placing  him  with  de- 
cision in  the  arm-chair  near  his  bed.  "Now  you 
are  in  the  front  row,  presentation  ticket,  do  you  see  ? 
Tuck  in  your  little  toes,  there's  a  nice  boy.  Now 
look  at  me  and  listen." 

There  was  no  need  to  tell  him  that.    He  crouched 


HENRIETTE  13 

low  and  motionless  in  a  corner  of  the  chair,  with  his 
chin  on  his  clenched  hands,  and  his  eyes  fastened 
on  his  mother,  as  she  took  a  seat  royally  facing  him, 
and  picked  her  violin  out  of  its  case  with  a  reverent 
care,  in  curious  contrast  with  her  brusque  handling 
of  himself  a  moment  ago. 

"  Bah  !  "  she  ejaculated  as  the  bow  caught  in  the 
hanging  lace  of  her  sleeve.  "  I  can't  play  in  this 
stupid  thing.  Au  diable  les  convenances."  Where- 
upon she  pulled  her  arms  out  of  the  loose  robe  she 
was  wearing,  and  let  it  fall  back  round  her  in  the 
chair.  "  Now  my  hair — of  all  the  plagues !  "  The 
impatient  action  had  loosened  the  heavy  knot  of  hair 
upon  her  neck,  and  it  fell  suddenly  down  her  back, 
rapidly  uncoiling  as  it  fell.  "  Hold  it  back,  for 
mercy's  sake,  while  I  tune." 

She  summoned  the  critic  in  her  rear  by  a  look  to 
her  service,  for  she  intended  to  have  both  safely 
under  her  spell.  It  was  not  hard.  The  child  in  front 
of  her,  four  year  old  baby  as  he  was,  was  fascinated, 
awed,  by  the  poise  of  the  slim  white  shape  against 
the  heavy  black  masses  of  hair :  and  his  eyes  followed 
mechanically  the  gleam  of  her  bare  arm,  in  the  move- 
ment that  is  one  of  the  most  graceful  in  the  world. 

Jem  obediently  came  and  stood  behind  her  throne, 
with  one  hand  gathering  back  her  dusky  mane,  and 
yielding  gently  to  her  movements  that  he  might  not 
hamper  her.  She  gave  him  a  sidelong  siren  smile 
before  she  began,  and  immediately  forgot  him  in  the 
business  of  playing. 

She  played  the  little  Day-dream  of  Schumann,  and 
played  it,  as  it  was  intended,  for  the  ears  of  a  child, 
adding  nothing,  even  in  her  excitement,  to  its  artless- 
ness  ;  for  all  Henriette's  larger  virtues,  sympathy, 
understanding,  and  self-control,  seemed  to  be  im- 
prisoned within  her  music — hardly  able  to  escape 
into  the  ways  of  common  life. 


14  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Very  good,"  she  commented  on  herself,  as  she 
drew  the  bow  out  to  the  extremest  tip  on  the  last  note 
"  Wasn't  it,  M.  le  critique  ?  "  She  extended  the  bow 
and  touched  the  motionless  child  under  the  chin. 
Her  changeful  spirits  went  up  at  a  bound,  at  his 
look  of  fearful  worship.  She  laid  down  her  instru- 
ment with  hasty  care,  and  descending  from  her 
throne,  caught  him  up  almost  roughly  in  her  arms. 
Her  hair,  twitched  from  the  confining  hand,  fell  in  a 
torrent  around  them  both,  almost  drowning  his  little 
dark  head. 

"  Oh,  you  little  funny  thing  !  "  she  cried,  caressing 
him  vigorously.  "  Maman  does  play  beautifully, 
doesn't  she  ?  But  so  shall  he  some  day.  Better 
than  maman,  and  better  than  grandpapa,  and  better 
than  any  Lemaure  of  them  all.  Maman  was  a  mis- 
take, Bebe  :  just  a  silly  girl.  But  you  will  be  a  man, 
and  great  music  must  be  made  by  men.  Oh,  how  I 
used  to  cry  and  cry  because  I  could  never  be  a 
man  !  But  I  shall  be  one  after  all,  for  you  shall 
be  one  for  me."  She  laughed  in  triumph  at  the 
thought.  "  Oh,  Bebe,  be  quick  and  grow  into  a  man. 
Why  are  you  so  little  ?  I  want  it  so  that  I  can't 
wait.  Ten — fifteen  years :  oh,  it  is  impossible.  I 
could  cry." 

So  she  could,  and  very  nearly  did,  from  sheer 
impatience. 

"  He'll  never  be  a  man  at  all,"  James  observed, 
"  if  you  keep  him  awake  all  night  now." 

It  was  his  first  guarded  move.  Henriette  made  a 
grimace. 

"  Bring  the  light  in  here,"  she  suggested  over  her 
shoulder,  passing  into  the  larger  room.  "  Then, 
dearest,  you  can  go  downstairs." 

Jem  attended  to  half  her  instructions  ;  then  he 
waited  anew,  leaning  an  arm  on  the  chimney-piece. 
His  watch  lay  in  that  hand,  unseen  by  those  behind 


HENRIETTE  15 

him  in  the  room.  Time  was  precious  to  Jem,  but 
he  had  his  reasons  for  delay. 

She  was  determined  not  to  give  way  at  once  to  his 
wishes,  of  course,  though  she  was  resentfully  con- 
scious of  them.  She  paraded  the  room  with  her 
swift  graceful  gait,  hugging  the  patient  child  in  her 
arms.  Unhampered  as  she  was  by  the  trailing  skirts 
of  the  day-time,  for  her  discarded  robe  was  lying 
where  she  had  left  it  in  Antoine's  room,  she  had  far 
more  the  air  of  a  charming  peasant  girl  than  of  the 
dignified,  disdainful  young  woman  who  had  stood 
before  the  princess  in  the  chateau  that  afternoon. 
Catching  sight  of  herself  in  the  long  mirror  as  she 
passed,  she  laughed  with  mischievous  delight  at  the 
picture,  and  stopped  to  admire  it  at  her  leisure. 

"  Oh,  Bebe,  look  at  us,"  said  she.  "  Do  you  see 
maman,  how  funny  she  looks.  Oh,  what  would 
those  people  at  the  chateau  say,  if  they  saw  us  now  ! 
They  thought  I  was  such  a  cruel,  cold  mother,  didn't 
they  ?  And  you  so  afraid  of  me,  weren't  you  ? 
Aha  ! — as  if  I  was  going  to  show  them  how  proud  I 
was  of  you — all  those  stupid,  gaping  men.  You  are 
not  afraid  of  poor  maman,  pet,  are  you  ?  Not  now  : 
and  not  very  much  ever  :  only  a  little  bit,  when  you 
are  a  stupid  goose,  and  make  her  cross.  Say  you 
are  not  afraid  of  her  now,  Bebe,  darling." 

He  shook  his  head,  his  eyes  on  her  face  in  the 
glass.  But  fear  was  in  the  gaze,  just  as  indisputably 
as  was  solemn  bliss,  and  the  worship  which  Henriette 
regarded.  Conscious  of  that,  she  did  not  trouble 
about  the  rest. 

"  Good  boy,"  she  said  gaily.  "  Now  tell  me  what 
we  are  like  together,  you  and  I." 

"  Notre  Dame  !  "  said  the  child,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
above  a  whisper,  after  a  moment's  intent  regard. 
The  attitude,  the  flowing  hair,  the  light  of  the  distant 
lamp  behind  her  head,  brought  naturally  enough  to 


16  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

his  mind  the  highly-coloured  pictures  he  had  often 
seen  in  the  cottages  of  the  fishermen  in  the  village. 

Henriette  laughed  aloud. 

"  Notre  Dame — oh,  you  naughty  little  boy  !  And 
you,  you  are  then — ft  done,  what  would  papa  say  ? 
Shock — ing.  I  hope  he  was  not  listening." 

She  hoped  he  was,  and  tried  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
his  face  in  the  glass  ;  but  apparently  he  had  his  back 
to  them,  so  she  continued  :  "  Besides,  I  am  not  the 
least  like  that,  stupid.  Look  again.  Nothing  half  so 
'  fade  '  as  a  saint.  See,  I  am  bohemienne,  am  I  not  ? 
Yes,  now  I  will  tell  you.  I  am  la  belle  Esmeralda — 
oh,  you  don't  know  her.  She  was  ever  so  pretty,  and 
she  danced  in  the  street,  the  dirty  Paris  street,  down 
below  where  grandpapa  lives — yes.  And  she  danced 
so  beautifully,  that  everybody  fell  in  love  with  her, 
great  lords  and  poor  poets — everybody,  think  of  it. 
And  she  had  bare  feet,  and  a  petticoat  short  like 
maman's  to  let  them  be  seen."  Henriette  sighed. 
"  If  it  were  not  for  papa  and  the  '  convenances,'  I 
would  take  off  my  stockings  and  show  you,  so  I 
would." 

She  cast  another  resentful  look  at  the  dark  reflected 
figure.  "  And  I  will  tell  you  what  else  she  had,"  she 
proceeded.  "  She  had  a  little,  little  white  goat — all 
white,  like  Blanquette  in  the  story  papa  read  you. 
You  remember  that  Blanquette,  who  fought  with  the 
wolf  ?  " 

Bebe  smiled  shy  assent  :  he  remembered  it  very 
well. 

"  But  this  poor  Esmeralda  has  no  white  goat,  has 
she  ?  "  Henriette  said  plaintively.  "  Nothing  but  a 
little  black  lamb ;  and  what's  the  good  of  that  ?  Not 
even  horns,  has  he  ?  Let  maman  feel."  She  ran 
her  strong  delicate  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  he 
laughed  and  hid  his  face  in  a  rapture  almost  too 
great  to  be  borne. 


HENRIETTE  17 

"  No,  nothing  but  black  wool.  Silly  Bebe  :  say 
then,  how  can  you  fight  the  wolf  without  any 
horns  ?  " 

"  Is  there  a  wolf  ?"  Antoine  murmured  doubtfully. 

"  Of  course  !  Wait  a  minute  and  I  will  show  you. 
There — no,  silly,  he  won't  hurt  you  here.  Look 
over  there  in  the  glass  ;  do  you  see  ?  A  horrid,  old 
grey  wolf,  waiting  to  eat  us  up  for  his  supper." 

"  But  that's  papa — papa  isn't  a  wolf." 

"  He  is,  I  tell  you.  Darling,  how  you  resemble 
grandpapa  when  you  laugh  !  I  must  absolutely 
embrace  you  for  looking  so  like  grandpapa." 
Madame  succumbed  on  the  spot  to  the  necessity. 

"  But  he  won't  eat  us,"  protested  the  child,  when 
she  released  him. 

"  Not  you,"  smiled  Henriette.  "  It's  me  he  is 
simply  longing  to  eat.  Longing — look  at  him  !  " 

"  Why  doesn't  he  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  Hush,  it's  because  he  is  so 
lazy.  English  grey  wolves  are  lazy,  dull  old  things. 
They  never  catch  the  little  French  lambs.  And  as 
for  a  gyps}^  like  maman — aha  !  he  would  not  try  ! 
If  he  came  growling  up  to  me  and  showing  his  teeth 
— you  would  see  !  " 

"  Papa  doesn't  growl,"  objected  his  loyal  son,  but 
rather  faintly. 

The  figure  in  the  glass  looked  very  stern  and  dark. 
He  stared  at  it,  and  at  the  same  instant  Jem  turned 
about. 

"  Henriette,  put  that  wretched  child  to  bed  at 
once.  Are  you  aware  it  is  nearly  twelve  o'clock  ?  " 

"  Hou,  hou  !  fit  le  loup,"  Madame  quoted  softly 
and  at  random  from  the  story  of  the  goat.  "You 
hear,  Bebe  ?  What  did  I  say  ?  " 

Then  she  swung  round,  chin  in  air. 

"  Midnight,  you  were  saying  ?  Then  surely  it 
seems  that  some  one  is  wasting  his  time." 

B 


i8  THE  CHILD  OF    PROMISE 

"  Yes/'  said  James.  "  I  shall  have  wasted  just 
thirty-five  minutes  unless  you  put  him  to  bed  at 
once." 

"  Poor  papa  !  "  murmured  Henriette,  studying 
him  with  dancing  eyes.  "  He  is  in  our  hands, 
behold,  Bebe.  What  shall  we  do  with  him  !  Send 
him  au  diable — or  put  you  to  bed  ?  Eh  ?  "  She 
bent  her  beautiful  mischievous  face  to  the  child. 

Antoine's  wide  eyes  were  on  Jem.  "I  will  go  to 
sleep  soon,  in  bed,"  he  whispered  into  her  hair. 

"  Oh,"  said  Henriette,  annoyed.  "  You  intolerable 
child.  That  was  not  at  all  the  right  thing  to  say, 
when  I  have  amused  you  so  nicely.  I  shall  have  to 
teach  you  manners."  She  balanced  him  on  her  arm 
for  a  moment.  "  You  are  very  heavy,  too  ;  much 
too  heavy  to  carry  all  these  hours,  if  I  had  thought 

of  it.  Well "  She  stepped  swiftly  into  his  little 

room,  and  tossed  him  down. 

"  Go  to  bed  then,  and  to  sleep  quick,  or  maman 
will  be  angry  ;  do  you  hear  ?  How  dare  you  be  so 
wide  awake  at  midnight  ?  " 

He  curled  up  tightly  at  once,  squeezing  his  little 
hands  closely  over  his  face.  He  was  well  used 
already  to  these  rapid  changes  of  manner  in  this 
dreadful  goddess-mother  when  she  played  with 
him. 

Henriette  marched  into  her  own  room,  with  a  last 
glance  of  defiance  at  the  critic  on  the  hearth  ;  and 
Jem,  pocketing  his  watch,  went  downstairs  to  his 
work. 

But  later,  when  his  wife  was  asleep,  he  slipped  up 
again  into  the  little  room,  and  bent  above  the  child. 
After  a  minute  or  so  he  picked  him  up  in  his  arms, 
for  in  spite  of  Bebe's  heedful  stillness,  he  was  gasp- 
ing audibly  with  a  sort  of  contained  terror  and  ex- 
citement, most  unusual  in  such  a  young  child. 


HENRIETTE  19 

Jem  held  him  for  a  time  in  silence,  and  then  car- 
ried him  to  the  window  which  opened  on  the  bay. 
The  great  white  moon  had  risen  above  the  sea,  and 
the  wind  blew  occasionally  in  gentle  singing  gusts, 
making  the  fuchsia  bushes  in  their  bare  shore-garden 
bend  and  glisten.  It  blew  in  at  the  window  a  little, 
and  brought  the  keen  scent  of  the  seaweeds  on  the 
shore. 

Jem  looked  abroad,  and  Be"be  listened  ;  and  after 
a  period  the  child  stopped  trembling,  and  the  man's 
knit  brow  relaxed.  Peace  had  come  to  them  both, 
though  the  father  said  no  word  of  soothing  at  all. 
The  haven  of  his  arms  was  enough,  he  thought,  to 
prove  security  to  that  small  frightened  spirit.  It 
had  proved  so  before,  and  so  it  proved  again. 

He  only  received  one  confidence,  after  a  long 
time. 

"  I  d-did  want  to  go  to  sleep,"  said  Antoine,  in  his 
baby  French.  "  I  did  try.  And  then  I  could  not 
any  more,  because  I  tried  so  hard." 


II 

THE  first  and  last  time  that  Antoine  heard  his  grand- 
father perform  in  public  was  when  he  was  six  years 
old,  and  it  happened  by  quite  an  extraordinary 
chance. 

M.  Lemaure,  as  he  approached  his  seventieth  year, 
definitely  abandoned  the  public  platform,  and  at- 
tended to  the  writing,  which  all  his  life  he  had  pre- 
ferred. He  had  played  for  his  living  in  his  youth, 
and  the  work  could  never  be  dissociated  in  his 
memory  with  that  painful  struggle  for  the  bare 
means  of  existence,  which  can  disfigure  with  its 
sordid  touch  the  most  triumphant  art.  Doubtless 
he  loved  his  violin,  as  he  had  made  the  listening 
thousands  love  it  ;  but  he  had  a  touch  of  the  feeling 
towards  it  which  the  factory-girl  has  to  her  loom,  or 
the  street-hawker  to  his  pony  ;  and  he  let  the  good 
servant  rest  with  bare  regret,  and  took  up  the  kind 
and  quiet  pen,  through  which  from  his  brain  the 
thoughts  flowed  quite  as  simply  :  and  among  the 
issue  of  which  the  noisy  and  undiscerning  crowd 
could  not  penetrate.  In  fact,  as  he  said  with  a 
smile,  he  was  old  :  much  as  a  few  other  people  had 
been  old  before  him  ;  thankful  for  a  life  which  had 
interested  him,  but  thankful  to  have  it  done,  and  to 
rest  in  the  retreat  he  loved. 

But  one  fateful  day,  a  small  European  potentate 
came  to  enjoy  the  sea-breezes  at  St.  Aviel,  where 
Henriette  had  first  met  Jem  ;  and  for  his  royal 
entertainment  a  private  concert  was  arranged  and 

20 


HENRIETTE  21 

announced  at  the  hotel  where  he  was  staying  ;  and 
to  the  electrification  of  Madame  Henriette,  it  was 
announced  privately  to  her  by  her  father  that  he 
would  attend  as  the  soloist  in  chief.  He  had  known 
the  prince  intimately  in  younger  days  in  Germany. 
The  prince  had  written  to  him  with  his  own  hand, 
and  with  such  flattering  urgency  that  M.  Lemaure 
found  himself  unable  to  refuse  the  honour,  and 
so  capitulated  gracefully  ;  feeling  indeed  that  two 
nights  under  his  daughter's  roof  might  well  com- 
pensate for  the  trouble  and  fatigue  such  an  expedi- 
tion might  cost  him. 

Henriette's  delight  and  excitement  knew  no 
bounds,  and  Jem  had  a  very  remarkable  break- 
fast on  the  morning  that  the  letter  arrived  at 
Porslanec  ;  for  it  was  naturally  impossible  to  think 
of  such  a  detail  as  pouring  coffee  when  real 
music  and  a  visit  from  papa  were  simultaneously 
in  prospect. 

"  Imagine — the  Concerto  of  all  things,"  she  said, 
walking  the  breakfast  room  in  high  excitement. 
"  What  a  feast  for  us,  isn't  it,  Bebe  ?  A  feast  for 
the  gods,  yes  :  if  it  were  not  that  the  orchestra 
will  of  course  be  miserable,  and  the  audience — 
pfui  ! — besotted.  The  hall  will  be  packed  with 
your  English — heap  of  impenetrable  icicles — I 
know  them  !  " 

"  It's  after  the  season,"  Jem  remarked.  "  My 
English  may  have  gone  home." 

"Not  they,"  retorted  Henriette,  "so  long  as  a 
prince  is  there.  There  they  will  be  all  sitting  like 
dummies  in  their  best  clothes — good  gracious  !  " 
She  dropped  back  in  her  chair. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Jem,  who  had  come  round  to  her 
side  to  get  himself  some  coffee. 

"  I  have  no  clothes — but  none  at  all !  And  be- 
sotted icicles  or  not,  they  will  be  perfectly  dressed  : 


22  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

and  we  shall  get  seats  in  front  of  the  hall  beyond  a 
doubt.  To  think  that  I  should  never  have  thought 
of  that." 

' '  Oh  well, "  said  J  em .  "You'll  have  a  bit  of  time 
to  turn  it  over."  He  smiled  down  at  her  where  she 
sat  ;  Henriette  was  very  clever,  and  not  as  extrava- 
gant as  one  might  have  expected.  Personally, 
Jem  could  not  imagine  why  she  ever  troubled  to 
change  her  dress,  but  he  thought  it  wiser  not  to  tell 
her  so  too  often. 

M.  Lemaure  was  to  reach  St.  Aviel  in  the  after- 
noon, attend  a  rehearsal  at  the  hotel,  and  come  on 
to  them  before  night  ;  he  would  not  definitely  say 
when,  for  like  his  daughter,  he  was  full  of  fore- 
boding as  to  the  condition  of  the  orchestra  with 
which  it  was  to  be  his  fate  to  play.  But  fate  and 
the  prince  were  more  generous  to  him  than  he  had 
expected,  and  when  he  arrived  in  the  late  afternoon 
he  reported  that  provision  had  been  made,  music- 
ally, regardless  of  expense,  and  that  "  everybody  had 
been  most  kind." 

"  Now  I  wonder,"  said  Henriette,  sitting  on  the 
arm  of  his  chair,  "  what  that  means  ?  I  suppose 
that  they  did  not  order  you  about  as  though  you 
were  a  raw  prize-winner  just  out  of  the  Conserva- 
toire." 

"  What  I  mean  is,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  leaning 
back,  "  that  the  rehearsal  was  a  success  :  and  that  I 
am " 

"  Content,"  said  Henriette,  supplying  a  word  the 
Lemaures  used  in  a  manner  of  their  own. 

"  Unusually  so  ! "  said  her  father,  his  hand  on 
hers.  "This  is  a  most  beautiful  home  you  have, 
Henriette." 

"  Beautiful  ?  "  said  Henriette,  putting  up  her  lip. 
She  had  a  curious  blindness  to  natural  beauty,  and 


HENRIETTE  23 

she  had  made  a  custom  of  regarding  the  fishing- 
village  she  inhabited  as  "  triste."  "  The  sea  is  a 
nice  colour,"  she  admitted,  looking  out  at  the  wide 
glory  from  the  verandah  where  they  sat. 

"  It  is  good  for  the  children,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Henriette  thoughtfully,  "  they  have 
not  drowned  one  another  at  present ;  though  Phil- 
ippe very  nearly  succeeded  with  Bebe  the  other  day. 
He  is  always  trying,  but  so  far  without  success. 
The  tide  comes  in  so  rapidly  that  the  old  women 
down  there  have  some  shocking  stories.  But  some- 
how, papa  dear,  I  do  not  believe  they  will  get 
drowned." 

"  You  leave  it  to  Fate,"  her  father  suggested. 

"  Something  like  that,  yes.  Down  there  they  call 
it  '  le  bon  Dieu.'  ' 

M.  Lemaure  was  devout,  so  that  Henriette  chose 
naturally  such  remarks  in  his  presence.  But  she 
never  succeeded  in  shocking  him  as  she  wished. 
He  only  smiled  now  while  she  continued  : 

"  One  of  those  women  gave  Philippe  a  charm  to 
wear,  because  they  thought  the  sea  would  steal  him. 
I  think  it  was  the  sea,  or  the  devil,  or  St.  Michael. 
Any  character  does  for  them.  You  had  better  ask 
Bebe  ;  he  knows  all  the  stories." 

Henriette  glanced  towards  the  children.  She  had 
bundled  her  family  hastily  out,  because  she  wanted 
her  father  to  herself  when  he  arrived,  and  was  jealous 
of  all  his  attention.  His  eyes  were  frequently  upon 
them,  for  M.  Lemaure  was  very  fond  of  children  : 
yet  considerate  of  her  wish  he  did  not  summon  them 
to  him. 

The  pair  sat  bare-legged  on  the  verandah  steps, 
Bebe  very  obviously  being  teased  by  Philip,  who 
was  confiding  some  ghastly  details  of  a  story  he  had 
heard  or  imagined,  which  his  younger  brother  did  not 
at  all  wish  to  hear.  The  child  sat  backed  against  a 


24  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

verandah  pillar,  his  shoulders  hunched  very  drama- 
tically, attentive  horror  in  every  line  of  attitude  and 
features,  and  with  wide  eyes  fastened  on  his  brother's 
face. 

Seeing  it,  the  mother  laughed.  "  Bebe  looks  as  if 
he  saw  a  ghost,  doesn't  he  ?  Phil  !  " 

Philip  turned  round.  He  was  now  a  boy  of  eleven, 
well-grown  and  handsome,  and  very  well  aware  of 
his  own  importance,  which  indeed  his  mother  took 
no  pains  to  conceal  from  him. 

"  Dearest,  come  and  show  grandpapa  the  charm 
the  widow  Fantec  gave  you." 

"  He  believes  it  all,"  said  Philip,  nodding  back- 
wards to  Antoine  with  a  superior  grin,  as  he  rose 
and  came.  "There's  nothing  you  can  tell  him, 
grandpapa,  that  he  won't  believe." 

"  But  I  do  not,"  cried  Bebe  swiftly. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  do,"  smiled  Philip.  "  Every  word. 
You  wait  till  twelve  to-night,  when  the  wind  makes 
a  noise  in  the  chimney.  Then  you'll  believe  it  fast 
enough." 

The  child  turned  his  eyes  to  his  mother  ;  finding 
no  assistance  in  that  quarter,  for  Henriette  was 
worshipping  Philip,  he  moved  them  on  to  the  visitor. 
Growing  calmer  by  degrees,  Antoine  studied  him 
with  attention. 

"  You  remember  me  ?"  said  his  grandfather  gently 
aside. 

Bebe  slightly  shook  his  head.  He  had  a  wonder- 
ful pair  of  dark  eyes,  that  never  seemed  to  look  right 
at  anything.  M.  Lemaure  felt  they  were  looking 
through  him  now,  the  horror  of  Philip's  story  not 
quite  out  of  them.  He  still  felt  them  turned  on  him 
from  time  to  time,  in  the  intervals  of  his  mother's 
voluble  chatter. 

Henriette  examined  M.  Lemaure  about  her 
"  monde  "  at  Paris,  until  he  had  to  beg  for  mercy. 


HENRIETTE  25 

"  For  a  young  person  with  so  few  friends,  Henriette, 
it  is  remarkable  how  many  acquaintances  you  have. 
Being  a  man,  and  tolerably  occupied,  I  cannot  keep 
au  fait  with  the  family  affairs  of  half  the  city." 

Henriette  sighed.  "  Being  a  man,  papa,  I  cannot 
expect  you  to  keep  au  fait  with  the  modes,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  Mamma,"  said  Philip,  in  dignified  reproof.  He 
was  now  crouching  at  her  side,  for  she  had  been 
showing  off  the  peasant's  charm  he  wore  to  her  father, 
and  still  held  him  captive.  A  most  beautiful  little 
gypsy  he  looked  certainly,  with  the  blouse  open  at  his 
sunburnt  throat,  where  the  thin  line  of  the  silver 
chain  lay  across  it,  and  his  gleaming  wicked  eyes 
much  like  those  of  an  impatient  animal  tame  under 
her  hand.  Henriette  loved  equally  to  show  Philip, 
and  to  show  him  tame.  It  was  hardly  wonderful,  her 
father  thought,  that  such  a  child  should  hold  all  her 
attention. 

"Dear  me,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  "that  reminds  me. 
You  have  not  asked  your  kind  father  what  he  has 
brought  you  from  the  Capital,  Henriette." 

Philip's  mother  dropped  him  and  leaned  forward. 

"  My  precious  Papa — not  a  hat  !  " 

"  I  seemed  to  recall  a  penchant  for  millinery  when 
I  thought  hard  upon  the  subject." 

"  Where  ?  "  Henriette  gasped. 

"  I  met  Madame  Claude  at  a  party  :  and  after 
apology  for  mentioning  business  at  such  a  time, 
begged  her  to  have  pity  on  me — and  on  a  daughter 
of  mine  she  might  remember." 

"  I  should  not  wonder,"  said  Henriette,  "  if  she 
remembers  me." 

"Nor  should  I,  considering  the  bills  I  used  to  pay 
her." 

"  And  she  is  just  the  single  person  who  ever  really 
grasped  my  style,"  said  Henriette,  sinking  backward. 


26  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Papa,  I  adore  you.  Why  did  I  ever  leave  you  ? 
What  colour  is  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you  filled  two  letters  with  rapture 
about  your  new  red  cloak  ;  so  I  ventured — black." 

"  There  !  Jem,  would  you  ever  have  thought  of 
that  ?  You  would  have  said  blue,  in  all  probability. 
It  never  matters  one  sou  to  you  what  I  wear." 

"Not  one  sou,"  said  James,  who  had  joined  the 
group  inconspicuously  some  time  previously  and  was 
sitting  beside  his  younger  son  on  the  verandah  step. 

"Bah!"  Henriette  dismissed  him.  "Darling, 
when  is  it  coming  ?  " 

"  I  found  it  at  the  station  of  St.  Aviel,  and  they 
promised  it  here  before  night.  I  thought  you  might 
need  it  for  the  reception,  to  dazzle  the  duchesses. 
Am  I  right  ?  " 

Henriette  left  her  chair,  and  sank  right  down  on 
the  floor  at  his  feet.  She  looked  about  twenty,  her 
father  reflected,  as  he  fondled  her  wonderful  hair. 

"  No  grey  as  yet,"  he  commented. 

"  None,"  said  she,  smiling  up  at  him.  "  In  spite, 
she  added  soon,  "  of  teaching  Bebe,  who  drives  me 
distracted.  Aren't  you  stupid,  darling  ?  "  she  added 
as  the  child  looked  round.  "  I  tell  him  a  thing  one 
day,"  Henriette  informed  her  father,  "  quite  clearly  : 
as  clearly  as  I  am  speaking  now  to  you  ;  and  next 
day,  he  has  forgotten  all  about  it." 

"  Do  you  then  tell  him  again  ?  "  M.  Lemaure  in- 
quired. 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Henriette.  "  Sometimes  I 
shake  him  :  don't  I  love  ?  It  is  so  annoying  to 
repeat  the  same  thing  over  twice." 

"  It's  curious,"  James  commented,  catching  his 
father-in-law's  eye,  "  how  much  the  kid  has  learnt, 
considering." 

"  Will  you  permit  him  to  play  to  me  ?  "  said  M. 
Lemaure. 


HENRIETTE  27 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Henriette,  laying  her  head 
on  his  knee,  and  looking  away.  "  I  have  an  idea  you 
had  better  wait  another  five  years,  papa,  till  you 
come  to  see  me  again.  What  I  mean  is,  you  used  to 
be  so  particular." 

"  I  am  still,"  said  her  father.  "  I  expect  very  little 
however,  from  your  teaching." 

"  Isn't  grandpapa  disagreeable  ?  "  said  Henriette 
to  Antoine,  who  was  looking  at  her  anxiously.  They 
were  odd  people,  these  elders  of  his,  but  he  imagined 
it  was  a  question  of  his  playing  just  now,  so  he  had 
to  be  ready  for  a  possible  sudden  command.  It 
came. 

"  Jump  up  and  fetch  your  fiddle,"  said  Henriette, 
clapping  her  hands,  quite  as  though  she  intended  to 
make  him  start.  "  We  shall  have  to  content  him,  I 
suppose.  And  mind  you  do  maman  credit,  or  she  will 
be  dreadfully  cross  with  you  to-night." 

There  was  silence  on  the  verandah.  Jem  was 
always  silent  ;  Henriette  was  disgustingly  nervous, 
and  sat  upright  and  pouting  in  her  chair  ;  Philip 
was  engaged  in  finishing  the  cakes  under  the  table 
unperceived.  M.  Lemaure'sat  and  reflected,  his  eyes 
on  the  sea.  The  performer  himself  was  the  most 
unconcerned  member  of  the  party.  He  returned 
scolding  the  demonstrative  black  poodle,  over  which 
he  had  tumbled  as  he  crossed  the  room,  and  took 
his  seat  with  composure  on  the  edge  of  a  high  chair, 
just  within  the  open  French  window,  amid  a  thrilling 
silence  which,  his  elder  brother  felt  acutely,  would 
have  utterly  "  floored  "  himself  in  a  like  situation. 

When  he  had  made  his  preparations,  Bebe  looked 
towards  his  mother  for  orders.  M.  Lemaure's  eye- 
brows went  up  a  hair's  breadth  at  the  name  she 
mentioned,  but  he  heedfully  looked  aside  from  the 
performer,  sitting  as  still  as  a  statue  while  he  attended. 


28  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

His  daughter,  whom  the  first  firm  sweet  note  had 
completely  reassured,  searched  his  face  eagerly  for  a 
response  to  her  exultation  :  but  he  did  not  look 
once  at  her.  He  thanked  the  child  quietly  at  the 
end. 

"  There  is  another  air  in  the  same  suite,"  he  said, 
"  a  slow  one  :  that  I  seem  to  remember  as  pretty 
also.  You  play  it,  eh  ?  " 

"  Maman  plays  it,"  said  Antoine. 

"  I  considered,"  said  Henriette  with  dignity,  "  that 
the  next  was  too  difficult  for  him  at  present." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  her  father.  "  But  I  wish  to  be 
reminded  of  the  tune.  Come,  my  dear."  He  spoke 
to  the  child. 

Henriette  clenched  her  hands  with  vexation  :  to 
put  him  out  like  this,  and  when  he  had  played  so 
well  !  Yes,  he  was  always  like  this,  her  papa,  when 
it  came  to  music.  He  seemed  to  lay  aside  the  whole 
cloak  of  his  gentleness,  and  become  stern,  tactless, 
eccentric — quite  another  character. 

After  a  short  pause  of  frowning,  the  child  lifted 
his  bow  again.  He  hesitated  once  in  the  middle, 
and  his  grandfather,  now  watching  closely,  thought 
his  nerve  would  give  way.  But  with  a  noticeable 
effort  of  will  he  recovered,  and  completed  an  almost 
perfect  rendering  ;  though  the  manner  was  dubious 
and  gentle,  and  the  tone  soft  as  though  he  whispered 
it,  yet  with  the  same  purity  as  before.  At  the  end 
he  looked  round  the  circle,  in  evident  surprise  at 
himself,  and  then  suddenly  laughed.  Antoine  found 
it  decidedly  amusing  to  play  things  like  that  on  his 
own  account — so  unlike  lessons  under  his  mother's 
sharp  eye. 

His  grandfather  laughed  too,  and  held  out  his 
hand.  Henriette  sat  open-mouthed  with  amazement. 

"  I  never  taught  him  that,"  she  said  half  indig- 
nantly. "  I  don't  even  possess  the  notes  of  it. 


HENRIETTE  29 

Bebe,  how  dare  you  go  playing  things  you  have 
never  been  taught  ?  " 

"  One  may  amuse  oneself  occasionally,"  her  father 
suggested.  "  Not  often  in  music,  I  admit ;  but 
at  this  age,  now  and  then." 

He  took  the  child  into  his  arms,  and  talked  to 
him  :  not  about  their  common  art,  but  other  things. 
He  had  no  further  curiosity  about  the  music  at  all, 
but  he  had  other  and  profound  curiosity.  He  did 
not  however  ask  questions  :  he  only  talked  the  most 
charming  nonsense,  astonishing  indeed  in  the  stern 
judge  of  ten  minutes  before. 

He  noticed  that  Antoine,  when  he  laughed,  which 
he  had  a  way  of  doing  suddenly  and  with  as  it  were 
the  whole  of  himself,  looked  always  towards  his 
father  for  sympathy.  M.  Lemaure  found  it  easy, 
through  him,  to  draw  Jem  into  conversation,  which 
he  wished  to  do.  He  talked  to  him  in  English,  a 
language  which  he  spoke  most  correctly  and  care-e 
fully  ;  whereas  his  daughter,  after  her  twelve  years' 
knowledge  of  Jem,  could  hardly  put  a  sentence 
together.  Henriette  made  a  grimace  when  he  began 
it,  and  turned  aside  to  amuse  herself  with  Philip. 

"  These  speak  your  language,  do  they  not  ?  "  M. 
Lemaure  asked  James,  touching  Antoine. 

'  This  not  so  well  as  the  other,"  said  Jem. 
"  Phil's  with  me  so  much  more  for  lessons  and  so 
on.  But  you  can,  can't  you  ?  "  He  turned  his  keen 
eyes  on  Bebe.  "  What  happens  when  you  keep  on 
talking  French  to  papa  ?  " 

;'  You  do  not  speak  at  all  any  more,"  said  Bebe. 

"  A  dumb  father,"  said  M.  Lemaure.  "  Ah,  but 
that  is  serious." 

"  Serious  ?  "  B6be  repeated.  "  That  is  angry  ? 
Papa  is  not  angry  then,  when  he  does  not  speak." 

"  He  thought  I  was  angry  the  first  time  I  did  it," 
James  explained.  "  Terrified  he  was — indignant — 


30  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

flew  at  me  in  French  again  and  again — no  effect  at 
all.     Couldn't  make  it  out,  could  you  ?  " 

"  It  was  like  to  be  a  dog,"  cried  B6be. 

"  But  you  like  dogs,  do  you  not  ?"  said  M.  Lemaure. 
whose  observation  of  him  had  been  complete. 

"  Not  as  a  papa,"  said  Antoine,  grasping  him 
rather  excitedly,  for  the  lack  of  words  hampered 
him.  "  A  papa,  he  shall  talk  ;  do  you  see  ?  " 

"  A  papa  often  don't,"  said  Jem.  "  Other  people 
talk  such  a  lot." 

"  Ah, that  is  of  us  to  be '  bavard,'  "  said  M.  Lemaure. 
"  Lemaures  have  always  talked  too  much.  Are  you 
Lemaure,  then,  my  little  one  ?  " 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Jem,  with  a  glance  at 
the  two  heads  so  near  together.  "  Unless  I  turn  him 
into  English  his  tongue  never  stops.  French,  or  the 
patois,  it's  all  one  to  him." 

"  That  is  three  languages,"  M.  Lemaure  remarked, 
"  and  music  makes  four.  Are  there  no  other  lessons 
than  these  ?  " 

"  Only  games  on  the  beach, ''.said  Jem.  "  Go  on," 
as  the  child  came  over  to  him,  "  tell  your  grandfather 
what  we  do  on  the  beach  with  maman's  big  pin." 

"  Draw,  is  it  ?  "    his    grandfather   helped    him 
"  What  do  you  draw  ?  ' 

"  Many  little  wheels,"  said  Antoine,  with  affec- 
tionate expression.  All  the  words  came  off  his 
foreign  tongue  with  the  prettiest  careful  accent. 

"  Every  kind  of  circle  is  a  wheel  to  him,"  said 
James.  "  He's  the  purest  passion  for  wheels,  haven't 
you,  Tony  ?  " 

Antoine  smiled  at  the  sea.  Those  lesson-games 
with  his  father  were  delicious  in  recollection.  It 
was  clear  to  M.  Lemaure  that  Jem  had  the  light 
hand  with  children  that  Henriette  lacked. 

"  Ah  !  It  is  your  own  craft  you  teach  him,  then  ?  " 
M.  Lemaure  leant  forward. 


HENRIETTE  31 

"  Early  geometry,"  said  Jem  guardedly  aside.  "  I 
daren't  go  far,  he  learns  so  fast :  so  we  call  it  a 
game  and  only  play  on  Sundays.  Anyway,  the 
drawing  can't  do  harm." 

"  Admirable."  Then  quickly,  as  the  child  turned. 
"  And  on  the  sand  it  is  so  easy  to  correct  the  lines 
naturally." 

Bebe  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  James  interpreted.  "If  it's  wrong,  it's 
wrong.  Bad  work,  and  you  start  again." 

"  Bad  work,"  said  Bebe  to  himself. 

After  a  little,  M.  Lemaure  left  them  and  went  in, 
feeling  the  chill  edge  of  the  sea-breeze,  to  which 
they  were  so  well  accustomed.  He  discovered  the 
piano,  and  from  trying  it,  fell  to  playing.  He  was  a 
fine  pianist,  and  his  stir  of  feeling  to-night  was 
such  as  to  demand  the  manifold  music  of  a  keyed 
instrument  to  express  it. 

Lost  in  his  improvisation,  he  did  not  observe 
Antoine,  who  slid  into  the  room  from  the  verandah 
and  shrank  into  the  sofa-corner  ;  nor  did  he  heed 
when,  some  minutes  later,  Philip  followed,  the  rapid 
little  drama  that  ensued  between  the  two. 

The  fact  was  that  Be"be  had  been  sent  to  bed  by 
his  mother  before  his  grandfather  had  begun  to 
play  ;  and  this  fact  his  sharp  brother  instantly 
divined  when  he  discovered  him  lingering  in  his 
dark  corner.  Philip  was  always  greatly  interested 
when  Antoine  chose  to  be  disobedient — disobedience 
being  generally  considered  under  that  roof  his  own 
particular  province.  He  felt  quite  warmly  towards 
him  now,  having  reassured  himself  as  to  the  pleasant 
state  of  affairs  ;  and  when  his  grandfather  stopped 
presently  for  a  minute  or  two,  he  held  his  little 
brother  firmly,  lest  he  should  seize  his  chance  to  say 
good-night  and  take  his  dutiful  departure. 

"  He's  not  done,"  the  tempter  whispered.     "  Chut, 


32  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

keep  still.  There's  mamma."  Henrietta  glided  past 
them  on  her  way  to  dress  for  dinner,  la}dng  a  loving 
hand  lightly  on  her  father  as  she  passed. 

"  Go  on,  darling  ;  there's  heaps  of  time,"  she  said, 
and  swept  out  without  noticing  her  naughty  sons 
on  the  sofa. 

M.  Lemaure,  who  never  much  regarded  such 
details  as  mealtimes,  took  her  at  her  word  ;  and 
when  she  re-entered  some  twenty  minutes  later  the 
music  had  only  lately  ceased,  and  Philip  in  a  chair 
was  ingenuously  occupied  with  a  book. 

"  The  Evening  Star,"  M.  Lemaure  murmured  as 
he  turned  to  her  ;  and  for  such  a  pretty  speech  the 
comparison  was  singularly  just.  Her  clear,  dark 
beauty  was  always  especially  enhanced  by  white  ; 
and  it  was  white  she  was  wearing  now,  clinging 
ingenue  white,  up  to  her  throat  and  down  to  her 
wrists,  and  vanishing  in  shadowy  undulations  behind 
her  on  the  floor  :  a  virginal  style  that  gave  her  far 
more  the  air  of  sixteen  than  the  double  tale  of  those 
years  she  actually  claimed. 

Unlike  the  debutante,  however,  Madame  received 
the  admiration  she  excited  with  the  indifference 
born  of  long  custom.  She  stepped  to  the  middle  of 
the  floor  and  stopped. 

"Bebe ! "  she  exclaimed  in  a  ringing  tone  of  dis- 
pleasure. "  Naughty  child  !  What  are  you  doing 
here  ?  " 

Antoine  stared  at  her,  still  half-dazed  by  the  music 
whose  echoes  had  hardly  died  out. 

"  I  sent  you  to  bed,"  said  Henriette  majestically, 
"  hours  and  hours  ago.  Yes,  you  may  blink  at  me 
like  an  owl,  but  you  know  I  did.  I  am  extremely 
vexed  with  you — extremely."  She  snapped  her 
bracelet  on  her  wrist  with  decision  ;  her  father 
should  know  she  was  capable  of  discipline  when 
she  chose. 


HENRIETTE  33 

'v  When  I  say  a  thing,"  she  proceeded,  ''  I  mean 
it.  Grandpapa  mightplay  twenty  thousand  sonatas, 
but  that  should  make  no  difference  at  all.  And 
now,  tiresome  child,  it  is  ten  minutes  to  dinner-time, 
and  you  will  have  to  wait  for  your  supper,  because 
Angele  is  now  occupied  with  ours  :  yes,  or  go  with- 
out it  altogether  ;  you  see  what  comes  of  disobeying, 
I  sent  you  early  on  purpose  to  save  Angele.  No, 
we  don't  want  you  here  any  longer  ;  and  grandpapa 
does  not  want  to  say  good-night  to  naughty  boys, 
nor  do  I.  Go  !  "  She  pointed  a  dramatic  finger  at 
the  door.  The  sermon  was  undoubtedly  effective  ; 
she  was  surprised  how  well  it  had  worked  out  on 
the  spur  of  the  moment. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  mamma,"  exclaimed  Philip,  "  it  wasn't 
his  fault.  You  told  him  to  say  good-night  to  grand- 
papa, and  he  had  to  wait  until  he  had  done  playing, 
that  was  all."  Philip's  tough  conscience  faintly 
reproached  him,  not  to  mention  that  he  reflected 
with  real  awe  that  it  would  be  intolerable  to  be 
scolded  before  his  grandfather. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Henriette.  "  Besides,  I  am  sure 
grandpapa  stopped  plenty  of  times,  if  he  had  wanted 
to  obey." 

"  Only  once,"  M.  Lemaure  remarked,  seeing  the 
culprit's  tears  run  over. 

"  And  then  I  held  him,"  said  Philip  with  an  ingra- 
tiating smile.  "  He  couldn't  go,  maman,  you  see, 
because  I  wouldn't  let  him." 

"  Don't  be  silly,  dearest,"  said  Henriette  frowning. 
"  I  know  I  had  something  else  to  say,  only  now  I 
have  forgotten  it  with  all  of  you.  However,  now 
that  child  has  gone,  so  there  is  no  more  to  be 
done." 

Philip  clapped  to  his  book  and  threw  it  down. 

"  It's  not  fair,"  he  said  in  English,  facing  her. 

"  Fai-er,"  mimicked  his  mother.     "  Suppose  you 

c 


34  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

run  upstairs,  my  '  fair  '  son,  and  wash  yourself  before 
the  bell  rings,  and  brush  your  hair,  which  resembles 
that  of  Struwelpeter  ;  and  leave  poor  maman  to 
concern  herself  with  her  own  affairs.  An  idea, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Philip,  "  I  won't  come  to 
dinner.  I  shan't  eat  anything.  I  shall  take  him  up 
mine." 

"Darling  !  "  Henriette  received  this  defiance  with 
enthusiasm,  and  embraced  him  with  warm  affection 
as  he  passed  her  sulkily  to  the  door.  "  You  will  do 
nothing  of  the  sort,  Phil,  or  you  will  break  maman's 
heart.  I  never  knew  such  rebels  as  I  have  got  for 
sons,"  she  added  with  plaintive  complacency  as  he 
disappeared,  advancing  towards  the  fire,  now  almost 
the  only  light  in  the  room.  "  Well,  papa  ?  Don't 
sit  there  like  a  sphinx,  but  go  and  get  ready  for 
dinner.  Remember,  in  my  house  one  is  punctual." 

M.  Lemaure  rose  obediently  from  where  he  still 
sat  before  the  fire  ;  his  expression  in  the  firelight, 
however,  was  not  entirely  satisfactory  to  Henriette's 
critical  eye. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  say  I  am  not  '  fair,'  "  she 
challenged  him,  intercepting  his  course  towards  the 
door. 

"  Fair  ?  You  are  adorable,  my  dear."  He  sought 
to  escape. 

"  Bah,  no.  You  know  what  I  mean  :  just.  What 
Jem  is  always  raving  about." 

M.  Lemaure  paused.  "  Well,  Henriette,  if  you 
consult  me,"  he  said,  "  I  should  advise  you  to  leave 
justice  to  others — your  husband,  for  instance.  You 
would  not  shine  in  the  part.  The  attitude  with  the 
balance  is  a  stiff  one,  as  you  may  have  noticed  in  the 
pictures.  It  is  not  your  style,  as  you  and  Madame 
Claude  would  say." 

They  looked  at  one  another  a  minute. 


HKNRTETTE  35 

"  Apres  ?  "  said  Henriette,  with  her  chin  up,  in  her 
old  style  exactly  of  receiving  reproof.  "  Go  along, 
papa  ;  I  am  disappointed  in  you.  Oh,  Jem,  have 
you  been  out  there  all  the  time  ?  How  you  startled 
me,  filling  all  the  window  like  that."  She  bit  her 
lip  angrily.  Her  father  had  remarked  how  nervous 
she  was. 

"  Sorry,  my  dear,"  said  Jem,  with  a  deprecating 
touch  on  her  shoulder,  as  he  passed  through  towards 
the  stairs. 

"  Come  and  see  the  kid,"  said  Jem,  at  the  door  of 
an  upper  room,  just  before  the  dinner-bell. 

"  And  what  of  discipline  ?  "  said  M.  Lemaure. 
"  You  are  shameless." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  have  just  to  look  in  and  see  that 
orders  are  carried  out.  Orders  are  a  bit  compli- 
cated at  times,"  said  Jem,  "  to  the  criminal."  He  had 
an  easy-going  smile  that  pleased  M.  Lemaure. 

"  There  now,  what  did  I  say  ?  " 

The  complication  had  evidently  for  the  moment 
overcome  the  criminal ;  for  when  they  entered  his 
room,  Antoine  was  lying  face  downwards  across  his 
bed  in  the  attitude  of  tragedy.  His  mother  was 
angry  with  him,  the  shore-wind  was  moaning  most 
unpleasantly  in  the  chimney,  and  Philip's  ugly 
story,  as  the  dark  grew  on,  was  threatening  to  recur  ; 
and  life  altogether  was  black  and  difficult.  His 
attitude  expressed  as  much,  and  more. 

His  big  father,  however,  proved  consoling  in  the 
situation. 

"  Oh,  come,"  James  opined,  "  it's  not  as  bad  as 
all  that,  you  know,"  and  he  swung  him  up  in  his 
arms.  His  view  of  life  seemed  to  have  power  after 
some  minutes  to  colour  Bebe's  ;  though  the  child 
hid  his  face  on  his  shoulder,  his  attitude  was  less 
tense. 


36  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"Now  look  here,"  Jem  proceeded  presently. 
"  Here's  a  visitor  come  to  say  good-night." 

"  Grandpapa,"  said  Bebe",  having  lifted  his  head 
languidly  to  look.  His  pallor  and  plaintive  little 
voice  corresponded  with  the  other  items  of  tragedy. 

"  Look  at  him  well,"  advised  Jem.  "  Maybe 
you'll  never  have  a  visit  again  from  such  a  great 
man.'/ 

Antoine  stared  down,  frowning  slightly,  to  where 
the  visitor  sat  near  his  bed. 

"  He  is  not  very  great,"  he  said.  "  You  are  more 
great,  papa." 

"  I  couldn't,"  Jem  declared,  standing  tall  as  a 
lighthouse  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  "  if  I  stood 
right  on  tip-toe  touch  him  with  the  tip  of  my  middle 
finger.  Now  then." 

Antoine  laughed  suddenly,  the  tears  still  glittering 
on  his  eyelashes  ;  and  so  did  M.  Lemaure. 

"  There's  the  bell,"  said  Jem  in  warning.  "  You'll 
have  to  hurry  up."  He  bent  down,  and  Antoine 
flung  himself  on  his  grandfather  with  the  fervour 
characteristic  of  all  his  proceedings.  M.  Lemaure 
held  him  close  a  minute  :  it  was  charming  to  him  to 
be  touched  by  a  child  again. 

"  I  seem  to  be  within  thy  reach,  do  I  not  ?  "  he 
said.  "  Evidently  thy  father  must  be  wrong  about 
it." 

Jem  laughed. 

"  I  only  spoke  for  myself  now,  didn't  I  ?  "  All 
his  retorts,  the  Frenchman  noticed,  came  in  the 
same  leisurely  drawl.  Then  he  unclasped  the  hands 
he  had  put  behind  him. 

"  Here  now,  I  want  one,"  he  said,  taking  posses- 
sion again.  "  And  remember,  you're  an  English, 
kid."  Antoine  reduplicated  his  grandfather's  em- 
brace. "  That's  French,"  Jem  reproved  him. 
"  Shall  I  take  one  of  them  to  maman  ?  " 


HENRIETTE  37 

The  child  at  once  became  grave  again,  and  his 
little  nervous  frown  reappeared.  He  did  not  reply 
as  his  father  tucked  him  into  bed.  The  question 
was  repeated,  and  he  nodded,  with  his  head  turned 
away  on  the  pillow. 

"  And  say  you're  sorry  ?  "  said  Jem,  with  a  quiet 
air  of  business.  Bebe  gave  a  still  smaller  nod.  The 
slight  candle  lit  upon  his  life  was  flickering  out. 
They  were  going  away  from  him  downstairs,  to  a 
dinner  which  smelt  particularly  good — and  he  had 
not  had  his  supper.  Neither  of  the  men,  comfort- 
ably certain  of  their  food  as  grown-up  people  are, 
remembered  the  fact. 

Providence,  however,  was  kind  to  Bebe,  inter- 
posing in  the  sturdy  shape  of  the  bonne  Angele. 
Just  as  Jem  had  a  hand  on  the  door  there  was  a 
rapid  knock,  and  Angele  with  a  tray  swept  in  like  a 
breeze. 

"  Monsieur  thought  I  had  forgotten  him,  I  wager," 
she  exclaimed  as  she  entered.  "  Eh-h  ?  Excusez, 
messieurs,  je  suis  pressee."  She  bustled  them  out  of 
the  way,  and  proceeded  to  provide  for  Bebe's  needs. 

"  Maman  said  you  had  too  much  to  do,"  said 
Antoine,  doubtfully  looking  on  at  her  preparations. 

"  Psst  !  "  said  Angele.  "  One  can  do  two  things 
at  the  same  moment  and  not  die  of  it,  I  imagine. 
Otherwise,  why  did  the  bon  Dieu  give  one  two 
hands  ?  " 

Bebe  laughed  at  this  idea,  and  M.  Lemaure  at  the 
door  turned  round.  He  recognised  the  clipped 
accent  of  his  native  Paris. 

"  It  occurs  to  me  he  provided  you  with  a  heart 
at  the  same  time,"  he  suggested.  Angele  swung 
upon  him. 

"  He  had  better  have  given  me  a  third  hand, 
Monsieur  ;  that  is  more  use  in  a  menage.  A  heart 
is  a  superfluity  when  it  comes  to  daily  bread." 


38  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  What  do  you  think  about  the  bread,  Beb6  ?  " 
said  his  grandfather,  with  a  gesture  to  the  bowl  of 
bread  and  milk  on  the  tray.  "  I  should  say  a  heart 
went  for  something  there." 

Bebe  held  up  his  arms  to  Angele,  whose  tem- 
pestuous presence  did  not  appear  to  disquiet  him 
at  all. 

"  Dear  little  one,"  said  she,  in  the  same  sharp 
tone,  and  kissed  him  with  vigour.  "  Eat,  then, 
quickly,  for  I  shall  need  the  tray." 

"  There  is  a  heart  wanting  somewhere  when  such 
as  that  are  sent  starving  about  a  bagatelle,"  she 
added  in  an  audible  mutter,  as  she  flounced  past 
her  master  and  vanished  in  a  whirlwind  as  she  had 
come. 

Be"be  called  his  father  back  a  minute. 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  M.  Lemaure  inquired  on  the  stairs. 

"  Question  of  conscience,"  said  Jem.  "  He  wasn't 
sure  if  he  was  justified  in  eating  after  what  his 
mother  had  said." 

;'  What  did  you  tell  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  officially  revoked  it — whatever  it  was.  I 
shall  explain  to  Henriette,"  he  added. 

M.  Lemaure  smiled.  "  I  fear  it  is  you  your 
children  have  to  thank  for  any  conscience  they  may 
possess,"  he  said.  "  I  advance  no  claim  at  all  on  our 
side." 

"  This  one's  all  right,"  said  Jem  gravely.  "  I  could 
have  dropped  a  little  more  on  the  other  with  advan- 
tage." 

"  Phil's  a  trouble,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,  he's  a  bit  wearing.  He's  not  even  sincere," 
James  said  suddenly,  in  a  gust  of  confidence. 

"  Even  ?  Is  it  not  the  hardest  thing  for  us  all  to 
learn  ?  " 

Jem  looked  round  at  him.  "  First  thing  I  learnt," 
he  said  shortly.  "  I  had  to." 


HENRIETTE  39 

"  So  in  your  turn  you  teach — by  force." 

"  You  don't  believe  in  that,"  said  Edgell  with 
another  swift  look. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  M.  Lemaure. 

"  Not  if  it  succeeds,  eh  ?  " 

"  Then  I  believe  the  employer  of  the  force  has 
triumphed  over  it.  Am  I  to  congratulate  you  ?  " 

Jem  laughed.  "  You're  clever,"  he  said.  "  If  I 
had  more  time,  I  don't  say  I  shouldn't  try  some 
fancy  ways.  But  there's  no  time  in  the  world,"  he 
said,  in  another  gust  like  the  first,  "  for  all  these 
modern  fancy-mongers  expect  of  you.  And  Phil 
don't  hate  me,"  he  added  quietly,  as  they  entered  the 
dining-room. 


Ill 

NEXT  day  dawned  cold  but  cloudless  ;  the  last  of 
summer  in  the  sky,  and  the  first  of  winter  in  the  air. 
Before  he  descended  in  the  morning  M.  Lemaure 
heard  Philip  below  his  window,  at  issue  with  his 
parents.  James  was  starting  early  with  his  bicycle 
to  work  as  usual,  and  was  giving  an  opinion  before 
he  left. 

"  Out  of  the  question  in  a  wind  like  this.  You'll 
only  have  him  ill  again.  If  you  can't  get  a  closed 
carriage  he  must  stop  at  home." 

"  Bebe"'s  going,"  said  Philip. 

"  Bebe  does  not  catch  cold  so  easily,  dearest,"  said 
Henriette.  "  Think  if  you  were  ill  again,  what  an 
annoyance  for  us." 

"  If  Bebe  goes,"  said  Philip,  "  I  shall.  That's 
all." 

"  You'll  do  what  you're  told,"  observed  his  father, 
and  there  was  a  pause. 

"  Well,"  said  Henriette,  cheerfully,  taken  with  a 
bright  idea.  "  I  had  better  leave  them  both,  hadn't 
I,  and  then  they  can  amuse  themselves  together. 
Angele  will  look  after  them,  and  they  will  be  off  my 
hands." 

Her  father  smiled  unseen  above. 

"  That's  a  solution,"  said  Jem's  grave  voice.  "  But 
wasn't  there  a  promise,  eh  ?  ' 

"  I  never  make  promises,"  said  Henriette.  "  They 
are  such  stifling  things." 

"  Well,  but  I  mean,  he  expects  to  go." 
40 


HENRIETTE  41 

"  Be"be  ?  Oh  yes,  he  expects  to.  We  have  talked 
about  nothing  else,"  said  Henriette,  "  since  grand- 
papa's letter  came." 

"  So  do  I  expect  to  go,"  her  elder  son  remarked. 

"  We  don't  all  get  what  we  expect,"  said  Jem. 
His  manner  to  Philip  was  in  almost  comical  contrast 
with  hers. 

"  If  you  had  let  me  have  a  bicycle,"  said  Philip, 
"  there  wouldn't  have  been  any  fuss." 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  mine,"  said  Jem. 

"  Don't  you  want  it  ?  "  cried  Henriette,  who  never 
learnt  to  recognise  satire. 

"  Yes,"  said  James,  "  and  I've  got  to  start.  Henri- 
ette, see  here  :  I  leave  it  to  your  father." 

"  Why  not  to  me  ?  "  said  Henriette.  "  Oh,  bah, 
go  along." 

James  presumably  went,  the  bicycle  being  in- 
audible in  the  sandy  road. 

Philip,  after  a  pause  sufficient  to  let  his  father  get 
well  away,  said,  "  I'm  going." 

"  Darling,"  said  Henriette,  "  you  must  mind  papa. 
And  you  wouldn't  care  for  it." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  boy  sharply. 

"  Because  you  are  such  a  dull  goose  in  music," 
said  his  mother,  with  her  beautiful  frankness.  "  And 
a  good  concert  is  wasted  on  you.  That's  why,  my 
angel." 

"  Take  your  hand  away,"  said  Philip,  his  voice 

choking  :  at  which  moment  his  grandfather  came  on 

the  scene  from  above  rather  hastily.     The  boy  was 

facing  his  mother  in  the  hall,  obviously  on  fire  with 

.  anger. 

"  Look  at  him,"  laughed  Henriette,  turning  with 
very  much  the  air  of  an  exhibitor  of  a  fine  young 
forest  animal.  "  He's  quite  cross." 

"  He  cannot,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  "  be  as  cross  as 
I  am."  He  passed  by  her  and  put  a  hand  on  Philip's 


42  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

shoulder.  "  Excuse  me,  my  dear,"  he  said  firmly. 
"  I  cannot  at  present  speak  to  your  mother.  Show 
me  the  way  to  breakfast." 

Philip  turned  stiffly  to  show  him.  The  way  was 
simple,  for  the  table  was  laid  out  of  doors,  where 
Bebe,  looking  slightly  pale  and  tragical,  was  waiting 
with  the  black  dog.  M.  Lemaure  saw  the  elder  boy 
winking  the  tears  back  angrily,  for  Philip  was  British 
enough  to  be  ashamed  to  cry.  His  grandfather  gave 
him  time,  his  first  instinct  with  a  child  who  was 
really  hurt.  He  quite  believed  Henriette  had  not 
the  least  intended  to  hurt  him.  Goading — pricking, 
rather — with  her  had  become  a  habit,  one  might 
almost  have  said  an  instinct,  at  thoughtless  moments. 
It  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  she  would  try  it 
on  her  own  children — and  yet  it  was  so  like  Henriette 
to  do  so. 

Meantime  M.  Lemaure  demanded  food  severely, 
without  looking  at  his  daughter. 

"  Papa,  you  are  ridiculous,"  said  Henriette,  seating 
herself  radiantly  beautiful  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
;'  This  is  just  the  way,"  she  informed  her  family, 
"  he  always  went  on.  I  shan't  give  him  any  sugar 
at  all  till  he  tells  me  what  it  is." 

There  was  a  silence,  while  M.  Lemaure,  who  liked 
sugar,  looked  melancholy.  He  was  a  born  actor, 
and  though  the  children  suspected  it  was  a  joke  they 
could  not  help  feeling  sorry  for  him  when  they 
saw  his  face.  Antoine,  who  had  reserved  a  piece 
in  his  saucer  for  the  black  dog,  shyly  passed  it  to 
him. 

"  Bebe  !  "  said  Henriette  sharply,  and  slapped  the 
other  hand  that  lay  by  her  on  the  table.  On  the 
instant  M.  Lemaure  gathered  up  the  hand  so  treated 
and  drew  the  small  boy  to  him. 

"  That  settles  it,"  he  said  quietly.  "  You  come, 
and  Phil,  and  she  shall  be  left  at  home.  The  idea  of 


HENRIETTE  43 

giving  way  to  temper  like  that,  so  early  in  the 
day.     Does  she  often  do  it  ?  " 

Philip  stared  at  him  across  the  table,  his  colour 
rising.  Could  he  really  mean  it  ? 

"  I  heard,  you  see,"  his  grandfather  explained  to 
him,  "  out  of  my  window  before  I  came  down.     She 
little  knew  how  much  I  heard."     He  looked  at  his 
daughter  for  the  first  time.     "  Do  you  think  I  could 
play  without  both  my  grandsons  in  the  audience, 
when  I  have  come  all  the  way  from  Paris  on  purpose 
to  have  them  ?     Any  one  could  see  it  is  nonsensical 
but  her.     How  far  is  it,  Phil  ?  " 
To  St.  Aviel  ?     Five  miles." 
'  Nearly  six,"  said  Henriette  quickly. 

'  Why,  but  one  could  walk  then." 
Phil  cannot  walk  alone,"  his  mother  cried. 

'  It's  only  one  road  all  the  way,"  Philip  grunted. 
"  I  suppose  I  can  follow  my  nose." 

"  I  don't  like  to  think  of  it,  darling,"  said  Henri- 
ette, looking  at  him  piteously.  As  if  the  first  gipsy 
who  came  along  the  road  could  possibly  resist  the 
temptation  to  steal  him  !  "I  should  be  miserable  all 
the  time." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  boy  wearilv.  "  I  won't  go 
at  all." 

"  If  I  could  trust  you,  Antoine,"  said  his  grand- 
father, "  to  bring  the  violin "  Bebe  looked  up 

inquiring  ;  his  mother  rapped  the  table. 

"  Papa,  what  are  you  talking  about  ?  Did  you 
hear  me  say  it  was  six  miles  ?  " 

"  If  we  got  lost,  you  could  explain,"  said  her 
father,  and  both  the  boys  broke  into  laughter.  Really 
a  grandfather  like  this  was  a  discovery.  "  However, 
M.  Lemaure  proceeded,  "  my  nose  is  as  straight  as 
Philip's — very  nearly.  I  have  little  doubt  we  shall 
arrive  by  two  o'clock." 

"  Six  miles  !  "  his  daughter  cried  again. 


44  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  And  six  hours  before  us,"  he  said,  glancing  at 
the  clock.  "  I  am  rather  old,  I  know,  but  still— 

"  Papa  darling,  you  must  not."  Henriette  stood 
up.  The  boy  beside  her  had  been  furtively  watch- 
ing her  face. 

"  I'll  stop,"  he  said  with  an  effort,  and  rose  too. 
"  It's  all  right,  maman." 

Henriette  snatched  him  before  he  could  retreat. 
"I   am  afraid,   darling,"  she  said,   "it  is  no  use, 
when  grandpapa  looks  like  that.     I  knew  him,  you 
see,  before  you  did.     Only  take  care  of  him,  Phil, 
for  my  sake  and  every  one's,  won't  you." 

And  so  it  was  settled. 

That  autumn  morning's  walk  was  the  beginning 
for  Philip  of  a  hero-worship  that  no  change  of  cir- 
cumstances, lapse  of  years,  intrusion  of  other  in- 
terests or  enthusiasms,  ever  succeeded  in  shaking  in 
the  smallest  degree.  His  was  a  faithful  nature,  once 
the  barriers  in  him  of  shyness,  obstinacy,  and  youth- 
ful cynicism,  had  been  broken  down  ;  behind  he 
had  much  of  his  mother's  warmth  and  sensibility 
ready  enough  to  aid  the  operation  of  breaking  down 
when  the  call  came  :  but  he  never  threw  his  heart 
open  to  any  mortal  with  the  absolute  self-abandon- 
ment with  which  he  opened  it  to  his  grandfather 
during  this  morning's  walk  over  the  cliffs. 

M.  Lemaure's  first  proceedings  that  day  had 
awakened  a  certain  expectation,  and  his  grandfather 
had  the  feeling  as  they  walked  that  he  was  being 
watched.  The  extremely  self-conscious  type  of  child 
was  a  little  strange  to  him,  so  that  he  was  even  extra 
careful  in  what  he  said  and  did.  But  he  could  not 
alter  his  native  simplicity,  and  it  was  that  that  was 
bound  to  win  the  day.  The  boy,  rather  precocious, 
full  of  life  and  thronging  ideas,  though  he  really 
loved  both  his  parents,  was  actually  fevered  by  the 
variance  of  their  treatment  of  him.  He  had  much 


HENRIETTE  45 

of  each  within  him,  and  neither  really  understood 
him.  Space  and  rest  was  what  his  hot  young  nature 
needed  above  all,  and  M.  Lamaure's  society  offered 
both.  Philip's  restless  ego  struggled  for  a  time,  but 
he  felt  the  calming  spaces  very  soon,  much  as  out- 
wardly he  felt  the  sunny  air  and  wide  horizon  on 
the  cliffs  above  the  sea,  and  long  before  the  end  of 
the  walk,  they  had  taken  possession  of  his  spirit 
entirely. 

He  began  by  boasting  freely,  and  M.  Lemaure  let 
him  have  his  fill  of  it  without  interruption  ;  indeed 
he  found  himself  very  well  amused  by  the  boy's  dis- 
closures. He  noticed  that  Philip  boasted,  among 
other  things,  of  his  father's  rigorous  treatment  of 
him,  yet  another  clear  sign  to  his  grandfather's  mind 
that  Jem's  methods  missed  their  mark.  However, 
it  was  evident  at  least  that  he  bore  no  real  resent- 
ment, for  he  talked  of  his  father's  "  scores  "  in  the 
combat  as  freely  as  he  talked  of  his  own.  In  passing, 
his  grandfather  marked  in  him  Jem's  form  of  humour 
exactly,  and  he  gathered  that  in  the  intervals  of  daily 
strife,  the  two  were  friends. 

All  the  way  while  he  chattered,  the  boy's  bright 
eyes  were  darting  about  him  ;  and  he  stopped  several 
times  to  watch  birds  from  the  cliff.  M.  Lemaure, 
playing  town-bred  ignorance,  tempted  him  to  talk 
of  them,  and  Philip  very  soon  forgot  to  boast  in  a 
genuine  enthusiasm.  He  gave  his  grandfather  a  vast 
deal  of  quite  interesting  information,  his  opinion  of 
his  ignorant  companion  rising  naturally  all  the  while. 
He  had  nearly  all  the  conversation  to  himself,  in- 
deed, until  they  sat  down  to  rest  on  the  highest 
point  of  the  promontory  above  the  bay  of  St.  Aviel, 
where  a  seat  was  the  outpost  of  one  of  the  prome- 
nades from  that  town,  which  was  in  sight  below 
them,  in  alljts  civilised  ugliness  of  stuccoed  villas 
and  glittering  beflagged  hotels.  M.  Lemaure  care- 


46  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

turned  his  back  upon  it,  as  he  took  up  his  posi- 
tion on  the  seat  ;  while  Philip  flung  himself  down 
upon  the  grass  near  by,  and  varied  his  conversation 
by  practising  long  shots  with  the  pebbles  that  lay 
around  him. 

"  Do  you  know,  Philip,  you  are  a  very  interesting 
companion,"  M.  Lemaure  remarked  presently.  "  I 
mean,  you  talk  very  well.  Did  any  one  ever  tell  you 
that  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Philip,  blushing  crimson  at  the  un- 
expected compliment.  "  They  generally  tell  me  I 
talk  too  much,"  he  added  bluntly  after  a  minute. 

Looking  at  his  grandfather  it  vaguely  came  over 
him  that  he  might  have  been  wasting  his  opportuni- 
ties a  little.  He  might  never  again  get  the  chance 
of  a  five-mile  walk  tete-a-tete  with  a  celebrity.  Philip 
began  to  think  about  him  a  little  for  a  change,  and 
so  arrived  at  curiosity. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  you  are  not  ner- 
vous when  you  play  at  a  concert  now,  are  you, 
grandpapa  ?  " 

M.  Lemaure  looked  round  in  surprise :  his  thoughts 
had  been  far  away. 

"  No,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  I  don't  think  I  am,  to 
tell  the  truth." 

"  Used  to  be,"  inquired  Philip,  "  when  you 
began  ?  " 

"  It  is  rather  long  ago."  He  considered.  "  I  can 
never  remember  being  rendered  incapable  by  nerves, 
if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"  Yes.  That's  like  Bebe.  It  never  seems  to  matter 
if  he's  by  himself,  or  a  dozen  people  listening.  It's 
odd  :  specially  when  you  think  what  a  little  thing 
upsets  him  most  times." 

There  was  a  pause  :  M.  Lemaure  seemed  inclined 
to  return  to  his  own  reflections. 

"  Was  mamma  ?  "  asked  Philip  suddenly. 


HENRIETTE  47 

"  Henriette  ?  Nervous  ?  Yes,  I  suppose  one 
should  say  she  was.  She  only  played  once  before 
the  public,  you  know.  Yes,  she  was  certainly  in  a 
terrible  state  of  nerves  beforehand,  poor  child,"  said 
M.  Lemaure,  as  he  sought  out  his  memories.  "  I 
remember  now,  she  suffered  so  much,  that  I  was  in- 
clined to  refuse  to  let  her  accept  another  engage- 
ment." 

"  But  I  suppose  she  played  well,  didn't  she  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  once  she  had  begun." 

"  Isn't  it  funny  ?  "  said  Philip.  "  I'm  like  that 
too.  I  suppose  I  get  it  from  her." 

"  Yes,  you  are  very  like  her,"  said  his  grandfather 
absently. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  the  boy,  with  such  a 
vivid  flush  of  pleasure  that  M.  Lemaure  felt  he  could 
forgive  him  anything.  Soon  he  was  off  again  : 

"  What  is  it  makes  people  nervous,  grandpapa  ?  " 
He  waited  for  him  to  say  vanity. 

"  Anxiety  to  please,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  without 
hesitation. 

"  But  isn't  everybody  that  ?  Aren't  you  ?  Won't 
you  be  anxious  to  please  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  Let  me  think."  M.  Lemaure  gave  his  mind  to 
it.  "I  shall  be  glad  if  I  please  the  public  of  St. 
Aviel :  I  shall  be  very  glad  if  I  please  the  prince  : 
I  shall  be  extremely  glad  if  I  please  you,  and  your 
mother,  and  Antoine.  But,  I  believe,  Phil,  I  am 
only  anxious  to  please — myself." 

"  That  sounds  jolly  selfish,"  said  his  grandson, 
doubtfully. 

"  Yes  it  does,"  agreed  M.  Lemaure.  Philip  con- 
sidered. 

"  Then,  it  doesn't  make  you  nervous  when  you 
are  only  anxious  to  please  yourself,"  he  summed 
it  up. 

"  It  seems  not."    Another  minute  passed. 


48  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  I  think  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Philip,  tossing 
over  another  stone.  "  You  mean  you  care  more 
about  it  than  any  one  else  there,  even  maman  and 
people  like  her.  And  so — if  you  please  yourself — 
you  know  they  ought  to  be  pleased  too." 

A  pebble  flung  into  space  filled  each  pause  in  the 
sentence.  At  the  end  he  turned  and  regarded  his 
grandfather  with  calm  triumph. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  M.  Lemaure,  obviously 
struck. 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip  with  decision.  "  You  care  for 
it  awfully  ;  so  awfully  that  you  don't  mind  about 
anything  else  at  all.  Don't  you  now,  sir  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.  I  suppose  that  we  all  have  something 
that  we  care  about  in  that  way." 

Philip  turned  his  attention  again  to  the  stones. 
He  tried  hard  to  think  of  something  for  which  he 
cared  "  in  that  way  "  while  he  dug  them  out  of  the 
grass  and  despatched  them  thoughtfully  upon  their 
several  careers.  It  may  have  been  that  the  warring 
interest  of  the  occupation  distracted  his  mind,  but 
he  could  think  of  nothing  at  all. 

After  a  time,  he  got  up,  and  came  across  to  his 
grandfather's  side  on  the  seat. 

"  Are  you  tired,  sir  ?  "  he  asked,  unaware  that  he 
spoke  in  English. 

The  old  man  turned  quickly, 

"  No,  my  dear.  Do  you  wish  to  go  on  ?  Are  you 
cold  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  too  hot.  I  didn't  mean  that.  Only  I 
thought,  if  you  weren't  tired,  perhaps  you'd  tell  me 
something." 

"  Tell  ?  "  His  grandfather  smiled  at  the  young 
request.  "  What  would  you  like  to  be  told, 
then  ?  " 

"  Anything — I  don't  care.  About  yourself. 
Maman  says  you  have  done  such  a  lot." 


HENRIETTE  49 

Henriette's  father  shrugged.  "  I  have  been  my- 
self," he  said.  "  Surely  that  is  enough."  Then  as 
though  regretting  the  restlessness,  he  put  a  hand  on 
the  boy.  "  See,  little  Phil,"  he  said.  "  Have  you 
heard  what  I  play  to-day  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  Philip.  "  It's  by  Beethoven, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  There  is  one  to  talk  of,  if  you  should 
talk." 

"  We've  got  a  picture  at  home,"  said  Philip.  "  He 
looks  a  grumpy  old  fellow." 

"  Grumpy  !  "  The  Frenchman  laughed  at  the 
word  ;  but  the  laugh  fell  off  his  face. 

"  Tell  me  about  him,"  said  Philip,  who  was 
heedful  of  the  look. 

So  M.  Lemaure  told  the  well-known  tale,  very 
carefully  and  simply  ;  for  his  English  was  not  too 
abundant,  and  he  had  to  watch  his  words  ;  but  the 
boy  listening  was  thrilled  by  it  none  the  less,  for  no 
poverty  of  language  could  disguise  the  narrator's 
instinct  for  dramatic  presentation  ;  and  towards  the 
climax  of  his  hero's  triumph  and  of  his  tragedy  his 
short  sentences  were  each  a  telling  stroke.  Also,  he 
was  moved  greatly  himself  by  what  he  told,  and  no 
child  is  impervious  to  real  emotion — especially  in  an 
idol  such  as  M.  Lemaure  was  fast  becoming  in  his 
grandson's  eyes.  Philip  took  a  long  breath  when  it 
was  over. 

"  It's  awful,"  he  said  almost  resentfully.  "  I  say, 
you  know,  was  it  worth  it  ?  Was  it  really,  grand- 
papa ?  I  mean,  I  suppose  it  is  for  us,  of  course  : 
but  was  it  for  him  ?  " 

"  No,  poor  soul,  not  then.  Nothing  in  life  is 
worth  much  suffering.  Those  great  ones  do  not  win 
their  crown,  unless  that  suffering  is  a  crown.  They 
are  themselves  the  crown,  to  us.  Their  immortality 
is  ours.  When  the  time  comes  for  them  to  wear  it, 

D 


50  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

they  have  already  passed  to  other  things  !  "  His 
smile  was  touched  with  disdain  as  he  said  it  :  then 
he  checked  himself  and  rose. 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  It  is  getting  late." 
Philip  the  talker  kept  silence  all  the  way  down  the 
steep  path  to  the  town.  Not  a  sorrowful  silence, 
however,  for  the  dead  Beethoven  had  already 
passed,  or  been  ousted,  from  his  mind.  What  are 
dead  heroes,  at  eleven  years  old,  when  you  can  get 
within  twenty  miles  of  a  living  one  ?  A  new  and 
almost  painful  happiness  swelled  within  him  ;  and  he 
looked  with  sublime  pity  on  every  casual  wanderer 
who  passed  ;  because  they  had  not  a  grandfather  like 
his — and  did  not  even  know  a  hero  when  they  saw 
one  in  the  road. 

M.  Lemaure  was  personally  invited  to  take  lunch 
with  his  friend  the  prince,  Henriette  having  made 
an  appointment  with  a  married  friend  of  hers  also 
staying  in  the  hotel,  that  there  should  be  no  chance 
of  burdening  her  father's  royal  acquaintance  with  a 
crowd  of  his  relatives,  as  she  put  it.  She  had  no 
ground  of  complaint,  for  she  had  her  invitation  in 
form  to  the  public  reception  after  the  concert,  where 
she  would  meet  all  the  artists,  many  of  whom  were 
known  to  her  already. 

When  her  father  had  discovered  from  one  of  the 
officials  in  waiting  that  she  had  not  yet  arrived,  he 
suggested  to  Philip  that  they  should  go  and  wait  on 
the  terrace,  and  hear  the  band  and  look  at  the  bay. 
Philip,  whom  the  conspicuous  reverence  of  the 
hotel  staff  towards  his  grandfather  had  greatly 
impressed,  welcomed  any  proposal  that  offered  a 
further  opportunity  of  showing  him  off  to  the  world. 
Consequently,  he  was  not  a  little  disgusted  when,  on 
their  way  through  the  hotel  quadrangle,  M.  Lemaure 
was  laid  hold  of  by  an  old  gentleman,  who  was 


HENRIETTE  51 

reading  a  newspaper  behind  a  palm  in  a  retired 
corner  by  the  fountain.  He  was  stout,  florid  and 
voluble,  the  picture  of  a  bore,  to  Philip's  critical 
eye.  To  add  to  his  discontent,  they  conversed  in 
German,  so  that  he  could  not  follow  what  they  said. 
So  he  watched  the  gold-fish  in  stately  silence, 
inwardly  surprised  that  his  grandfather,  up  till 
then  so  attentive,  should  neither  think  of  intro- 
ducing him  to  the  fat  man,  nor  of  cutting  short  the 
conversation.  It  was  not  till  the  stranger  looked 
towards  him,  and  spoke  a  few  words  aside,  and 
M.  Lemaure  turned  and  said  quietly,  "  Philip,  M.  le 
prince  wishes  to  know  you,"  that  he  realised  his 
mistake. 

The  shock  was  such  that  he  coloured  to  his  hair, 
as  he  advanced  to  shake  hands  with  royalty  for  the 
first  and  last  time  in  his  life.  The  stout  prince 
growled  a  remark  in  German  to  his  friend  which  had 
somehow  the  air  of  a  compliment,  and  then  turned 
and  spoke  to  him  very  pleasantly  in  French. 
Philip's  sensible  answers  and  shy  bearing  seemed 
to  please  the  gruff  old  German,  who  finally  patted 
him  on  the  head,  and  with  an  amiable  "  A  bientot  " 
to  M.  Lemaure,  returned  to  his  newspaper. 

They  spent  the  interval  on  the  terrace,  observing 
the  brilliant  crowd  of  all  nations  that  was  shifting 
there,  until  Henriette  appeared,  with  Bebe  in  one 
hand  and  the  violin  in  the  other,  followed  by  a  sub- 
missive hotel  servant,  to  whose  painful  anxiety  to 
relieve  her  of  her  burden  she  paid  not  the  smallest 
attention,  though  it  was  plainly  weighing  on  his 
mind.  She  handed  over  her  charge  into  her 
father's  hands :  and  thereafter  he  disappeared 
temporarily  from  the  world  of  private  life,  having 
received  from  her  the  family  formula  of  good 
wishes,  delivered  with  a  most  impudent  smile ; 
for  Henriette  was  the  only  member  of  the  family 


52  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Lemaure  who  treated  its  head,   artistically,  with 
frivolity. 

Henriette  made  herself  very  conspicuous,  and 
gave  the  officials  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  in  the 
concert  hall,  before  she  could  make  up  her  mind  as 
to  the  seat  she  preferred.  She  had  never  much 
objection  either  to  giving  trouble  or  awakening  atten- 
tion, but  she  was  in  some  real  perplexity.  Her 
father's  last  word  to  her  had  been  a  warning  about 
Bebe.  "  His  first  orchestra,"  said  M.  Lemaure  :  and 
Henriette  was  realising  with  indignation,  even  at  this 
early  stage,  that  she  was  already  being  hampered  by 
her  children.  Personally,  she  desired  to  see  as  well 
as  hear  ;  to  see  her  father's  mechanism  on  the  one 
hand  ;  on  the  other  to  see — and  be  seen — in  the 
hall.  This  was  not  compatible  with  hiding  with  Bebe 
behind  a  pillar,  that  she  might  soothe  him  if  his 
excitement  proved  past  bearing. 

Consequently  Madame  Edgell  debated  and  pouted 
with  two  gold-laced  officials  hanging  anxiously  on 
her  words,  every  male  eye  in  the  neighbourhood 
upon  her  person,  and  every  female  eye  upon  her 
Paris  hat. 

"  Which  actress  is  it  ?  "  ran  the  invisible  question 
around  her  in  the  crowded  salle  ;  for  though  not 
naturally  majestic,  there  was  an  air  about  her  of 
repressed  vitality  and  power  which,  even  without 
the  hat  and  the  handsome  child  beside  her,  would 
have  made  her  noticeable. 

At  last  she  compromised  upon  a  good  central 
place  some  way  back,  to  which  her  friends  at  the 
hotel  invited  her,  sufficiently  in  the  shadow  to  pro- 
tect her  without  entirely  obliterating  her  charms. 
And  the  principal  gold-laced  official,  vastly  relieved 
to  get  rid  of  her,  handed  her  her  programmes, 
scores  and  opera-glass,  and  was  dismissed  with  an 


HENRIETTE  53 

exquisite  smile.  She  immediately  planted  her  para- 
phernalia on  Bebe's  seat,  and  took  him  up,  that  she 
might  point  out  to  him  the  different  instruments 
as  they  arrived,  and  explain  the  business  of  each. 
Then  she  took  up  the  score  of  the  concerto,  shoot- 
ing as  she  did  so,  the  pile  of  programmes  on  to  the 
floor,  and  showed  him  the  various  entrances  he  was 
to  expect.  He  knew  already  the  virtuoso  part, 
having  heard  her  constantly  practise  it  at  home, 
but  the  full  score  was  new  to  him,  and  he  studied 
it  curiously,  making  now  and  then  a  little  plaintive 
remark,  that  was  so  funny  in  the  contrast  of  its 
absurd  wisdom  with  its  babyish  tone,  that  the 
English  lady  in  front  of  Henriette  looked  round 
several  times  with  amused  curiosity  at  the  pair. 

Presently  there  was  a  stir  through  the  room,  and 
the  prince  and  his  party  of  noble  ladies — whose 
appearance  caused  Henriette  and  her  intimate  friend 
much  amusement  and  satisfaction — swept  through 
to  their  places  in  front ;  and  almost  immediately 
after,  the  tuning  which  had  brought  his  little  dis- 
quieted frown  to  Antoine's  forehead,  died  away  at 
the  conductor's  tap  ;  and  then  a  rattle  of  applause 
broke  out,  swelled  and  surged  through  the  building, 
and  Henriette,  turning  from  the  distractions  of 
private  criticism,  saw  her  father  before  her. 

Careless  as  she  always  was,  she  had  not  prepared 
herself  for  it,  though  she  might  have  known,  for  his 
fame  had  risen  steadily  during  his  late  retirement ; 
and  it  was  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  he  was  even 
better  and  more  widely  known  now  than  he  had 
been  when  he  gave  his  farewell  concert  in  Paris 
some  five  years  before.  Henriette  clasped  Bebe 
until  she  almost  hurt  him  in  her  irrepressible  rush 
of  emotion,  as  the  applause  about  them,  instead  of 
dying,  rose  and  spread  insistently,  and  fell  like  hail 
from  every  part  of  the  hall  upon  his  head  ;  and  she 


54 

forgot  her  rancour  against  the  English  when  she 
saw  the  prim  faces  round  her  quicken  into  eagerness 
and  enthusiasm  at  the  sight  of  him  ;  and  her  mockery 
of  the  Germans  when  she  beheld  the  prince  rise  from 
his  seat  and  openly  lead  the  ovation,  and  his  con- 
ductor turn  in  his  perch  and  beam  down  on  the 
artist's  aged  head  a  hero-worship  as  glad  and 
generous  as  that  of  his  young  grandson  in  the 
morning. 

As  for  Philip  himself,  he  had  never  experienced 
such  a  war  of  sensations  in  his  life  as  that  which 
struggled  in  him  during  this  shower  of  universal 
acclamation.  Of  course  he  had  heard  that  his 
grandfather  was  a  popular  artist,  but  he  had  never 
dreamt  that  it  meant  this.  It  caught  him  by  the 
throat  ;  he  sat  helpless,  gazing  with  brilliant  eyes 
and  flushed  cheeks  at  the  calm  figure  that  was  the 
centre  of  so  much  excitement.  He  had  "  hoped  to 
please  the  public ! "  That  was  all  he  had  said,  and  "the 
public  "  fell  on  him  in  return  to  this  extent  before 
he  had  even  begun.  Philip  thought  he  ought  to 
be  satisfied. 

He  appeared  to  be.  He  gave  easy  acknowledg- 
ment to  every  part  of  the  hall,  and  a  low  bow  and 
smile  in  the  prince's  direction,  and  then  that  worthy 
took  his  seat  and  wiped  his  brow,  and  the  four 
heart-beats  which  open  the  great  first  movement 
struck  the  hall  instantly  into  silence. 

Long  before  the  solo  instrument  entered,  before 
the  heavenly  strain  of  the  second  theme  had  drawn 
to  a  close — Henriette  had  to  lay  down  the  critic  and 
the  daughter  together,  and  come  to  the  aid  of  her 
son.  Bebe  was  trembling  in  every  limb  as  he  leant 
against  her,  and  all  the  best  and  tenderest  part  of 
Henriette,  already  thrown  open  to  the  call  of  great 
music,  came  forth  at  the  sight  of  his  need.  This  she 
understood  at  least,  her  quiet  actions  said,  as  she 


HENRIETTE  55 

drew  him  jealously  close  to  her,  holding  him  firmly 
with  one  hand,  while  the  other  clasped  the  little  ones 
he  had  unconsciously  gripped  together  in  the  over- 
powering anguish  of  bliss  that  possessed  him. 

"  It's  all  right,  darling,"  she  whispered  softly. 
"  Wait  :  listen  for  grandpapa.  It  will  be  easier 
when  he  comes." 

The  single  voice  of  the  principal  violin  leapt  into 
the  light  as  the  rush  of  the  orchestra  abated,  and 
Antoine  found  it  "  easier,"  as  his  mother  had  said. 
From  that  instant  through  the  movement  Henriette's 
keen  eyes  were  fastened  to  the  performer,  though 
her  hands  still  guarded  Bebe". 

"  Well,"  the  daughter  reflected,  "  if  they  bully  him 
after  this,  it  will  do  no  more  than  serve  him  right." 
To  talk  of  age  and  retirement,  indeed,  while  he  could 
still  play  like  that  !  Of  all  people  in  the  world,  none 
but  papa  could  have  nad  the  severity  to  drop  the 
bushel  upon  such  a  light  as  his  own,  and  trim  the 
little  lamps,  as  she  knew  he  sedulously  did,  of  his 
inferiors.  Henriette  turned  over  in  mind  a  variety 
of  the  newer  players  she  had  heard,  and  laughed 
with  gay  contempt  internally.  Incorrigible  critic  as 
she  was,  while  outwardly  her  eye  marked  slight 
shades  and  uncertainties,  within  she  clasped  him  to 
her.  There  was  no  one  like  him  :  he  was  hers. 
Lucien  and  the  others  boasted  of  him,  but  she  pos- 
sessed. From  a  child  she  had  been  aware  of  her 
feminine  prerogative  in  the  matter.  She  had  teased 
and  tormented  him,  mocked  his  high  standard, 
flouted  his  authority  in  teaching  and  training  ;  but 
he  was  papa  and  her  especial  property,  as  he  very 
well  knew  besides. 

"  Le  petit  gar^on — n'est  pas  malade  ?  "  said  the 
kind-faced  English  lady  in  front  of  her  in  laborious 
French,  as  she  turned  half  round  in  her  seat  during 
the  interval. 


56  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  I  thank  you,  no,  madame.  It  is  only  the  music 
that  troubles  him  a  little,"  she  answered  sweetly. 

"  Troubles  ?     He  does  not  like  it,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  He  likes  it  too  much,  madame.  Look  up,  dar- 
ling, and  speak  to  this  lady." 

Bebe  moved  his  head  and  looked  round.  His  dark 
eyes  were  wide  and  wet  in  his  little  colourless  face. 

"  Poor  little  dear,"  said  the  lady  in  her  own  tongue 
to  herself.  "  He  looks  so  delicate." 

"  I  am  very  well,  thank  you,"  said  Bebe,  meeting 
her  sympathetic  eyes. 

"  Why,  he  speaks  English,"  she  said  with  surprise, 
glancing  quickly  at  the  mother  again.  "  Are  you 
fond  of  music,  my  dear  ?  " 

Bebe  shook  his  head  dreamily  :  it  was  better  not 
to  attempt,  in  the  English  at  his  command,  an 
answer  to  that.  "  It  hurts,"  he  explained,  "  and  why 
does  not  that  play  some  more  ?  " 

He  glanced  restlessly  at  the  beautiful,  dreadful, 
many-handed  orchestra,  wailing  faintly  above  him 
like  a  lost  spirit.  "  Isn't  he  funny  and  sweet  ?  " 
said  the  lady  to  her  companion  ;  and  proceeded 
to  compare  him  to  some  Bobby  or  Reggie  at  home, 
whose  image  he  had  called  up.  Henriette,  settling 
back  comfortably  for  the  second  part  of  the  concerto, 
glanced  at  her  ill-fitting  silken  back  with  approval. 

The  highest  dream  of  Antoine's  early  life  was 
already  over,  and  he  lay  quiet  and  thoughtful  against 
his  mother's  soft  furs  during  the  remaining  part  of 
the  music.  Henriette  could  free  her  mind  of  him, 
and  give  a  little  attention  to  Philip,  whom  for  a  con- 
siderable period  she  had  quite  forgotten.  When 
she  looked  at  him  his  chin  was  resting  on  his  arms 
folded  on  the  back  of  the  chair  in  front  of  him,  and 
he  was  watching  with  mild  amusement  and  curiosity 
his  grandfather's  wonderful  solo  performance  in  the 


HENRIETTE  57 

cadenza  :  then  he  suddenly  laughed  and  sat  up,  as 
the  music  broke  into  the  irresistible  rhythm  of  the 
finale,  and  as  though  in  reflection  of  that  unconscious 
laugh,  came  the  customary  movement  of  surprised 
relief  among  the  spectators. 

The  orchestra  took  it  too  fast,  but  the  soloist,  with 
a  comical  lift  of  the  eyebrows,  that  Henriette  recog- 
nised, let  them  go.  He  had  been  fighting  the 
sensation  throughout  that  the  whole  performance 
was  a  game — a  make-believe  played  in  the  dreams 
in  which  he  had  been  lost  so  long  ;  and  beyond 
that  he  was  tired,  much  more  tired  than  he  had 
expected  or  imagined  ;  and  beyond  that  again,  he 
was  a  Frenchman  born,  and  loved  to  amuse,  even 
though  it  should  be  illicitly.  It  was  an  amazing 
performance  mechanically  regarded,  but  it  was  the 
transformation  worked  in  the  artist  himself  that 
Henriette  and  Philip  were  watching. 

"  Voila  papa,"  she  cried,  laughing  in  ecstasy  like  a 
girl,  when,  at  the  end  of  all,  he  stood  smiling  in  front 
of  them  on  the  platform,  held,  rather  than  recalled, 
by  the  storm  of  applause. 

"  See,  Bebe,  he  looks  this  way."  And  she  stood 
her  little  son  on  the  seat  beside  her,  and  holding  him 
firmly,  for  he  was  still  shivering  slightly  with  excite- 
ment, bade  him  kiss  his  hand.  Bebe  did  so,  and  M. 
Lemaure,  who  could  not  see  the  gesture,  but  saw  at 
once  the  little  black  head  he  sought  above  the  flowery 
bonnets  of  the  English  ladies,  bowed  low  in  those 
ladies'  direction  with  an  exaggerated  deference  that 
impressed  them  much. 

Only  the  one  in  front  of  Henriette,  who  had  caught 
her  remark,  looked  swiftly  from  the  musician  on  the 
platform  to  the  child  on  the  chair  behind,  and 
clutched  her  companion's  arm. 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  "  it's  the  family.  Then  that 
accounts." 


IV 

"  KEEP  an  eye  on  my  things,  my  dear,"  said 
madame,  leaning  across  Philip  to  her  friend.  "  I 
simply  must  just  run  round  and  look  after  him.  I 
know  he  will  be  dead.  There  is  ten  minutes  interval 
and  Bebe  has  never  seen  an  artist's  room,  have  you 
love  ?  I  want  to  introduce  you." 

"  Lemaure — Lemaure  :  I  am  Henriette  Lemaure. 
I  must  see  him,"  she  said  impatiently  to  the  officials, 
who  were  inclined  to  bar  her  way  without.  Her 
magnificent  ease  had  its  effect,  and  she  passed 
unhindered  with  Antoine  through  the  successive 
doors  until  they  found  themselves  at  the  entrance 
of  the  room  that  had  been  set  apart  for  the  per- 
formers, and  entered  upon  a  babel  of  chatter  and 
smoke. 

She  looked  about  her  sharply,  catching  sight  as 
she  did  so  of  half  a  dozen  acquaintances  :  for  the 
second  part  of  the  day's  programme  was  light  and 
varied,  and  there  were  numerous  performers  engaged 
in  it. 

"  Henriette  !  My  dear  child,  this  is  really  thought- 
less." Her  father's  tone  was  almost  sharp.  Follow- 
ing his  eyes  in  astonishment  and  pique,  she  looked 
down  at  the  child  at  her  side. 

"  Bebe — stupid  !  "  she  ejaculated. 

Bebe,  his  already  shaken  nerves  completely  over- 
set by  the  hubbub,  was  clinging  to  her  skirt  and 
fighting  with  convulsive  sobs  :  the  deep  almost  dry- 
eyed  sobbing  of  sheer  excitement. 

58 


HENRIETTE  59 

Stooping,  M.  Lcmaure  picked  him  up  in  his  arms. 
He  was  tired  himself,  and  his  own  nerves  not  very 
steady.  He  could  scarcely  stand  any  more  at  the 
moment. 

"  Papa,  I  did  so  want  to  see  everybody,  and  I 
couldn't  leave  him,"  Hcnriettc  defended  herself 
quickly. 

"  Could  you  not  have  waited  till  the  end  ?  I 
warned  you,  my  dear.  You  might  have  taken  him 
into  the  air  and  quiet  for  a  little  instead  of — this." 
He  looked  about  him  with  weariness. 

"  Henriette  !  Cherie,  it  cannot  be  !  Whence  dost 
thou  spring  ?  " 

A  large  lady  in  pink  almost  screamed.  She  was 
Mile.  Schindler,  the  detested  rival  of  Henriette's 
student  days. 

"  Dearest  Suzanne.  I  am  ravished,"  she  replied, 
and  they  embraced  with  enthusiasm.  In  a  moment 
the  mother  was  shut  in  by  a  laughing  and  exclaiming 
circle  of  her  old  friends,  and  her  father,  with  her 
child  in  his  arms,  was  left  almost  alone.  After  a 
second's  debate  he  carried  him  over  to  a  quiet  corner 
near  an  open  window,  and  sat  down  to  wait  patiently 
until  the  painful  paroxysm  that  was  shaking  him  from 
head  to  foot  had  slightly  calmed. 

He  sat  silent,  thankful  for  the  peace  :  only  his  left 
hand  smoothed  unconsciously  the  child's  ruffled 
hair  behind  his  ear.  No  one  was  near  them  except 
a  tall  young  man,  who  was  standing  rather  apart 
from  the  rest  of  the  company  by  the  fireplace.  He 
felt  as  solitary  as  he  looked,  and  wretchedly  nervous 
into  the  bargain  ;  for  he  was  an  amateur  singer 
engaged  by  the  management  in  view  of  the  large  and 
useful  English  colony  at  St.  Aviel.  M.  Lemaure  had 
been  introduced  to  him,  for  he  had  insisted  on  being 
made  known  personally  to  all  his  colleagues  for  the 
day.  He  was  looking  at  the  pair  near  him  now  with 


60  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

curiosity,  and  M.  Lemaure,  presently  turning  his 
head,  met  a  pair  of  Irish  grey  eyes  fixed  on  him 
inquiringly. 

"  Over-excited,"  he  quietly  answered  the  unspoken 
question.  The  young  man  approached. 

"  Poor  little  chap.     Surely — not  your  child,  sir  ?  " 

"  Scarcely,"  M.  Lemaure  laughed.  "  My  youngest 
child's  youngest  child,  Mr.  O'Halloran." 

"  Oh,  excuse  me.  Your  playing  rather  throws 
one  out  of  reckoning." 

"  Flattery,  eh  ?  I  have  heard  your  division  of  the 
nation  is  not  above  that." 

"  Meanin'  the  British  ?  "  His  running  smile  in- 
stantly proclaimed  his  birth. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  M.  Lemaure  said  seriously. 
"  Your  politics  are  so  confusing  in  England.  Ah, 
come — that  is  right." 

The  young  man  had  an  attractive  accent  and  a 
pleasant  voice.  Bebe,  always  awake  to  these  things, 
lifted  his  head. 

"I  have  heard,  Bebe,  "said  his  grandfather,  "  that 
monsieur  can  sing  a  song  about  a  little  fox.  Ask 
him  if  he  will  give  it  to  us  this  afternoon." 

"  Will  you  sing  about  the  fox  ?  "  said  Bebe  faintly, 
after  a  space  of  mutual  observation  between  the  two. 
The  young  man's  eyes  were  very  merry  and  kind. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  I  could,"  said  he  with  a  sigh. 
"  I  am  booked  to  be  sober  for  the  day,  worse  luck." 

"  Well  then,  we  must  give  him  a  '  bis.'  There  is 
our  only  chance  for  that  fox,  Bebe." 

O'Halloran  laughed,  with  a  boyish  shrug.  The 
nervousness  which  he  had  temporarily  forgotten 
reappeared. 

"  If  I  have  one,  I'll  sing  it,"  he  said.  "  That's  not 
a  bargain  that  will  cost  me  much." 

"  Monsieur  is  too  modest."  M.  Lemaure  changed 
into  French  as  his  daughter  approached.  He  left 


HENRIETTE  61 

Antoine  to  his  new  friend  for  a  moment.  "  Henrietta 
my  dear  :  one  instant." 

Madame  shook  off  her  pressing  throng  of  admirers 
and  approached  him  at  the  summons. 

"  Be  quiet,  my  love,"  said  she  to  the  last.  "  I  have 
some  wretched  children  about.  I  will  see  you 
afterwards  upstairs.  Well,  papa  ?  "  She  bent  over 
him  with  an  air  of  possession. 

"  I  wondered,"  he  said  quietly,  "  what  it  was  your 
intention  to  do  with  these  at  the  end." 

"  Send  them  home,  of  course,"  madame  said 
straightening  her  hat  at  a  convenient  glass.  "  Phil 
is  quite  sensible,  and  I  ordered  a  closed  carriage. 
Loulou  has  promised  me  to  wrap  him  up  before  they 
start.  That  dearest  love  has  no  invitation,  so  she 
has  the  time  to  give.  I  trust  her  like  myself."  Hen- 
riette's  friends,  when  they  were  useful,  had  a  way  of 
becoming  even  excessively  dear  to  her. 

"  Cinnot  you  keep  this  one  with  you  till  yon  go  ?  " 

"  Bebe  ?  O  no,  really,  I  can't  be  bothered  with 
him.  I  have  promised  quantities  of  people  to  talk, 
and  he  would  only  get  sleepy  and  cry.  And  I  cannot 
talk  my  best,  can  I,  when  I  am  distracted  by  howling 
children.  It  is  far  better  for  him  to  get  home  quietly 
to  bed.  Trust  me,  dearest  goose." 

She  patronised  him  lovingly  ;  for  the  moment  it 
was  delightful  to  play  with  him,  and  keep  him  from 
others  who  were  watching  their  chance  behind. 

"  Bebe's  quite  used  to  doing  without  me,"  she 
said,  giving  frankly  more  attention  to  young  O'Hal- 
loran  than  the  child  he  was  plajang  with.  "  Besides 
he  cheers  up  so  quickly,  you  do  not  know  him. 
There  never  was  such  a  changeable  monkey  on  this 
earth.  Hear  him  laughing  now  !  " 

"  May  he  not  change  again  ?  " 

"  Funny  little  papa,"  said  Henriette,  coaxing  him 
with  a  delicate  finger  on  his  cheek.  "  You  are  tired, 


62  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

aren't  you  darling  ?    Just  for  this  once,  may  one  not 
take  charge  of  you  instead  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head  at  her  :  but  he  smiled.  When 
she  grew  soft,  Henriette  was  still  irresistible. 

"  You  know  you  go  to-morrow — and  I  have  hardly 
seen  you,"  she  murmured,  with  a  sudden  sly  kiss  to 
complete  the  conquest.  Then,  at  the  sound  of  a 
distant  bell,  she  became  stately  with  miraculous 
suddenness. 

"  Pardon,  monsieur,"  said  she  with  sweetness  to 
the  young  Irishman.  "  You  are  too  amiable,  but  we 
must  transport  ourselves,  my  son  and  I.  Antoine, 
come  quickly  with  maman,  darling."  And  capturing 
Bebe's  hand,  she  swept  off  with  him  in  her  train. 

During  the  second  part  of  the  concert,  madame 
gave  her  critical  faculties,  till  then  somewhat  sub- 
merged by  family  feeling,  full  play.  She  changed 
places  with  Philip,  that  she  might  confide  to  her 
friend  her  valuable  views  on  art  and  persons.  She 
pointed  out  how  sadly  her  sweetest  Suzanne's  voice 
had  gone  off — hardly  surprising,  indeed,  when  one 
reflected  that  she  had  always  been  too  vain  as  a  girl  to 
study  properly  :  and  that  such  judgments  are  bound 
to  fall  on  artists  who  trust  to  a  limited  natural  gift, 
and  an  appearance  which  a  certain  section  of  the 
public  find  pleasing. 

"  Ce  petit  Halloran,"  Henriette  granted,  was  a 
"  joli  garcon,"  and  had  an  agreeable  voice  ;  but  like 
most  of  the  English,  he  had  not  the  beginning  of  a 
notion  of  the  way  to  sing.  However,  here  the  room 
disagreed  with  her,  consisting  as  it  did  to  a  large 
extent  of  the  despised  nation  :  and  Bebe's  friend  got 
the  "  bis  "  without  any  need  of  his  help. 

Both  madame's  sons  went  promptly  over  to  the 
enemy  at  the  second  song,  and  even  she  unbent. 

"  C'est  chic,  <;a,"  she  said  surprised,  as  Bebe 
climbed  again  on  to  his  seat,  that  he  might  signify 


HENRIETTE  63 

in  person  his  approval  of  the  little  Irish  fox,  whose 
adventures  were  declaimed  with  such  entertaining 
rapidity  ;  and  for  the  second  time  that  day  got  a  bow 
and  smile  all  to  himself. 

The  temporary  merriment  woke  him  up,  but  the 
effects  did  not  last  long.  He  lay  languidly  across 
his  chair,  with  his  head  resting  on  the  back,  listening 
to  Philip's  voluble  and  confidential  witticisms  on 
the  performers  ;  but  his  eyes  wandered  restlessly  in 
between  ;  and  he  looked  so  white  before  the  close, 
thatHenriette's  attention  was  disagreeably  distracted, 
and  her  remarks  to  Loulou  became  inexplicably 
coloured  with  ill-humour.  Her  friend,  who  knew 
her  well,  thought  she  was  tired  ;  so  very  possibly 
Henriette  was,  had  she  allowed  herself  for  a  moment 
to  admit  it,  but  even  that  explanation  hardly  reached 
the  full  truth.  It  was  rather  divided  purpose  than  a 
conscience  that  was  troubling  her  ;  for  like  most 
persons  with  strong  wills  and  clear  brains,  having 
set  her  mind  on  a  course,  she  destested  to  be  in  any 
degree  distracted  from  it.  Now  the  distraction  would 
not  leave  her,  and  it  made  her  increasingly  pettish 
and  impatient. 

She  put  Antoine  briskly  into  his  coat  at  the  end, 
addressing  him  with  bracing  cheerfulness  ;  dilating 
eloquently  on  how  much  he  had  enjoyed  himself, 
how  he  would  go  and  have  cakes  with  Madame 
Loulou,  and  be  a  very  good  boy,  and  ride  home  all 
alone  with  Phil  in  the  carriage.  It  sounded  a  de- 
lightful programme  as  worded  by  Henriette,  and  she 
was  convinced  it  was  all  he  could  ask  ;  especially  as 
she  kissed  him  warmly  and  told  him  with  conviction 
that  he  was  an  angel,  before  she  put  him  into  the 
arms  of  Loulou's  husband.  All  the  way  through  the 
packed  throng  to  the  rendezvous  she  had  made  with 
her  father,  Henriette  chattered  with  surprising  volu- 
bility to  her  friend,  who  did  scarcely  anything  on 


64  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

her  side  but  beseech  her  to  lower  her  voice,  for  her 
observations  were  recklessly  personal. 

Her  father  and  the  prince  were  waiting  together 
at  the  appointed  spot  in  the  covered  quadrangle,  and 
the  expected  introduction  was  then  and  there  accom- 
plished, in  a  fashion  that  was  all  the  more  flattering 
for  its  informality.  His  Serenity  succumbed  so 
promptly  that  Henriette  was  almost  inclined  to 
resent  it  ;  and  so  did  a  magnificent  solemn  young 
officer  in  uniform-  whom  he  presented  as  his  eldest 
son.  Henriette  was  brilliant  indeed,  to  a  point  to 
surprise  her  father,  and  looked  yet  more  lovely  than 
her  custom  with  the  excitement,  necessarily  con- 
tained, to  illuminate  her.  The  younger  prince  stared 
openly  at  this  vision  falling  upon  his  somewhat 
dreary  way,  for  the  dull  society  of  a  small  court 
could  supply  nothing  to  approach  it.  He  threshed 
his  ponderous  brain  for  responses  that  should  not 
fall  just  too  late  to  fit  into  the  interstices  of  Madame 
Edgell's  rapid  sallies  ;  but  she  was  so  distracting  to 
watch  that  he  hardly  ever  captured  them  in  time, 
and  was  driven  to  laugh  boisterously  instead,  and 
feverishly  twist  his  fine  moustache. 

Henriette's  friends  had  conveyed  Bebe  to  the  edge 
of  the  fountain,  to  show  him  the  goldfish  and  the 
flowers  ;  but  they  had  not  been  long  there  before 
his  grandfather  came  to  fetch  him,  for  the  prince 
would  not  hear  of  not  being  presented  in  form  to 
both  the  grandchildren  of  his  old  friend,  not  to 
mention  the  children  of  his  exquisite  daughter. 

While  both  the  good-natured  royalties  played  with 
and  petted  the  child,  M  Lemaure  who  held  him 
watched  him  closely.  The  little  nervous  frown 
constantly  twitched  his  brow,  even  while  he  smiled 
sedately  at  the  jests  of  his  German  admirers.  His 
hands  gripped  the  collar  of  his  grandfather's  coat,  as 


HENRIETTE  65 

though  he  were  not  absolutely  certain  of  himself  or 
his  surroundings. 

The  prince  at  last  demanded  a  kiss. 

"  I  wager,"  said  he,  "  that  you  do  not  know  how 
kings  should  be  kissed." 

"  One  kisses  their  hand,"  said  Bebe,  with  a  slight 
quick  sigh.  He  did  not  much  want  to  talk,  as  it 
happened,  just  now.  But  maman.  was  there,  and 
people  must  be  answered. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  prince  laughing.  "  That  is 
only  in  the  Marchen.  Do  you  not  know,  submis- 
sion is  out  of  date  nowadays  ?  Besides,  you  are  a 
Frenchman,  little  one.  A  son  of  the  Republic,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Antoine  doubtfully.  "  Except  with 
papa." 

"  Aha,  I  forgot.  Still,  you  were  born  in  France, 
in  the  land  of  equality.  Frenchmen  kiss  no  hands." 

"Except  of  women,"  pronounced  his  son,  with  a 
glance  in  Henriette's  direction.  He  had  such  an  air 
of  capturing  at  last  the  right  thing  to  say,  that  she 
caught  her  lip  with  her  teeth,  in  terror  of  laughing 
aloud. 

"  True,"  said  his  father  solemnly.  "  Of  women, 
not  of  kings.  One  thinks  nothing  at  all  of  kings  in 
France,  is  it  not  so,  my  friend  ?  " 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Bebe,  looking  through  him 
after  his  habit,  "  they  are  of  a  certain  utility." 

Both  the  royalties  roared  with  laughter.  Bebe 
winced,  and  wished  they  would  not  make  such  a  noise. 

"  Maman  said  it,"  he  explained  gently  when  they 
would  let  him. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  cried  his  mother  with  a  magnifi- 
cent frown. 

"  Madame,  but  we  are  too  flattered,  are  we  not, 
Heinrich  ?  "  cried  the  prince,  still  shaking.  "  Pray 
little  one,  tell  us  in  what  we  are  useful.  It  is  news 
to  us,  I  assure  you." 

E 


66  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  It  is  that  you  make  a  concert,"  said  Antoine. 

"  Aha  !     And  bring  a  grandfather,  hey  ?  " 

"  Yes."  The  child  lifted  a  single  imploring  look, 
to  the  face  above  him.  Then  he  suddenly  buried 
his  head  in  his  shoulder. 

"Your  Serenity  will  excuse  him,  "said  M.  Lemaure. 
"  He  is  tired." 

"  But  it  is  a  wit  !  "  cried  the  prince.  "  Come,  my 
child,  let  me  have  my  kiss,  and  then  you  shall  go. 
Look  now,  I  will  show  you  how  one  does  it."  With 
which,  he  took  possession  of  one  small  hand,  and 
bent  his  bald  head  down  to  it. 

"  Now  do  you  see  ?  "  he  said.  "  It  is  I  that  sub- 
mit. And  do  you  know  why  ?  " 

Bebe  shook  his  head  without  raising  it. 

"  I  have  a  favour  to  ask  you  !  yes — such  helpless 
things  are  princes.  I  need  your  assistance  in  a  plot. 
It  is  my  wish  and  that  of  the  princess,  my  wife,  to 
carry  off  madame  your  mother  for  the  evening,  I 
dare  not  ask  her  to  leave  her  charming  children  for 
such  as  we.  Will  you  ask  her  for  me  ?  There  is 
my  request." 

There  was  a  minute's  absolute  silence.  Bebe  had 
lifted  his  head  and  turned  his  eyes  on  his  mother. 

"  I  believe  she  can  scarcely  refuse  such  kindness, 
sir,"  her  father  said,  his  keen  glance  also  upon  her. 

What  was  the  matter  with  her,  Henriette  wondered 
angrily,  that  she  could  not  speak  ?  Here  was  the 
very  thing  that  she  wanted,  the  invitation  to  stay 
with  her  father,  to  shine  at  his  side  with  his  reflected 
lustre  and  her  own  ;  it  could  not  have  been  offered 
in  a  more  courteous  and  delicate  fashion  ;  a  dozen 
obvious  forms  of  gay  and  graceful  response  to  it 
flashed  across  her  brain";  but  her  tongue  they  would 
not  pass. 

"Support  me,  little'one,"  the  prince  urged  gently. 
"  There  is  need." 


HENRIETTE  67 

Henrietta,  still  without  speaking,  swept  slowly 
across  the  intervening  space,  and  came  up  to  her 
father. 

"  Do  you  ask  me,  Bebe  ?  "  she  said.  Her  voice 
was  not  quite  steady  as  she  looked  at  him  frowning. 

"  Oui,  maman,"  said  Antoine  faintly. 

"  Tell  me  to  go  then." 

He  could  not  in  words.  His  hand  alone  made  a 
faint  gesture  towards  the  prince. 

Who  shall  say  what  took  Henriette  then,  faced 
with  what  commonly  she  would  have  called  such  an 
easy  choice  ?  Gaiety,  indulgence,  flattery,  all  she 
loved  best  on  the  one  hand  :  on  the  other  this  child, 
always  so  easily  treated,  who  did  not  even  ask  for  her. 

It  may  have  been  simply  dramatic  instinct — that 
exigent  sense  of  the  needs  of  a  situation,  of  the  tell- 
ing thing  to  do  at  a  crisis,  which  belonged  to  the 
nature  of  Lemaure.  It  may  have  been  a  rush  of  the 
feeling  that  temperaments  like  hers  afford  with  such 
difficulty  to  children,  animals,  the  sick  or  suffering, 
anything  that  is  incapable,  incomplete,  or  unlike 
themselves,  even  though  that  thing  may  be  their 
own.  It  may  have  been  an  attack  of  nerves,  from 
which  she  had  lately  suffered  at  intervals,  for  physical 
reasons  which  she  refused  to  recognise.  Or  it  may 
have  been  that  slight  divine  spark  of  real  understand- 
ing, some  relic  of  sympathy  from  those  moments 
they  had  lived  together  in  the  concert-hall,  that 
passed  from  Antoine's  dark  eyes  to  hers,  as  she  stood 
so  near  him  and  on  a  level. 

Anyhow,  apart  from  analysis,  which  is  in  any  case 
the  poorest  way  in  the  world  of  approaching  feminine 
human  nature,  Henriette's  proceedings  remain  to 
chronicle.  She  caught  Bebe's  hand  as  the  prince  had 
done,  and  kissed  it  passionately  in  her  turn.  Then 
she  swung  about  with  a  wonderful  smile. 

"  I  am  infinitely  indebted  to  your  kindness,  sir," 


68  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

said  Henriette,  "  but  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  profit 
by  it.  I  must  pray  you  to  excuse  me." 

The  magnificent  Heinrich  gaped  at  her,  indignant 
and  incredulous.  Was  it  credible  that  she  could 
mean  it  ? 

"  Was  I  not  right  ?  "  his  father  cried  in  triumph. 
"The  child,  that  is  the  king.  We  clumsier  sovereigns 
must  bow.  Not  a  word,  madame,"  he  continued,  his 
broad  face  full  of  benevolence,  as  she  tried  to  speak 
again.  "  It  is  our  loss,  that  is  all.  Even  such  as  we 
know  what  children  are,  and  what  mothers,"  he 
added  gruffly. 

He  was  enormously  touched  and  pleased  by  the 
devotion  of  this  brilliant  young  creature.  To  move 
a  German  audience,  Henriette's  great  effect  could 
hardly  have  been  better  chosen.  The  scene,  in  the 
stout  prince's  eyes,  was  a  poem  :  that  poem  of  domes- 
ticity which  few  can  match.  He  longed  to  go  and 
tell  his  wife. 

Henriette  had  time  to  reflect  on  her  success,  among 
other  things,  during  the  long  dark  drive  home  in  the 
carriage  ;  while,  unseen  by  Philip,  the  tears  ran 
slowly  down  her  cheeks  :  and  Bebe,  tired  out, 
slept  in  her  arms. 

When  James  got  home,  he  found  his  wife  in  the 
kitchen,  still  weeping  a  little,  it  is  true  ;  but  consoled 
by  relating  to  the  charmed  Angele  a  detailed  history 
of  her  day  in  the  world,  and  the  smart  company  she 
had  seen  at  the  hotel. 

Henriette  and  the  bonne,  usually  at  daggers  drawn 
were  devoted  friends  for  the  time ;  and  at  the  moment 
when  Jem  entered,  she  was  taking  Angele's  valuable 
advice  in  the  matter  of  a  change  of  coiffure,  which, 
on  the  model  of  one  of  the  prince's  suite,  she  had 
been  contemplating  during  the  afternoon. 

Jem  interrupted  it  rather  brusquely. 


HENRIETTE  69 

"  Henriette  ?  Nothing  wrong,  is  there,  my 
dear  ?  " 

The  tears  were  still  visible,  and  he  thought  as  he 
looked  anxiously  down  at  her  she  seemed  unusually 
pale. 

"  No,"  she  said,  rising.  "  It's  all  right,  stupid.  I 
came  here  for  society  till  you  came,  that's  all.  I  cannot 
stand  being  alone  in  that  room  at  night,  when  the  wind 
is  shrieking.  Get  the  supper,  Angele,"  she  said  rather 
wearily,  and  passed  with  him  into  the  other  room. 

"  And  now  we  are  all  alone,"  she  observed,  heaping 
up  the  fire,  when  she  had  given  him  a  brief  and  rather 
fantastic  account  of  things,  which  still  left  him  dis- 
satisfied. "  With  a  whole  hour  before  papa  comes  : 
which,  as  you  were  so  jealous  of  him  last  night,  is  a 
great  relief  to  your  mind." 

"  I  wasn't  specially,"  James  reassured  her.  "  I 
rather  like  your  father." 

"  Of  course  you  do,"  said  Henriette,  "  just  to  make 
yourself  disagreeable.  Well,  to  go  on  with  what  I 
was  saying,  you  shall  have  your  supper,  because  you 
are  always  so  bourgeois  and  hungry.  And  after 
supper,  if  you  go  on  behaving  nicely,  I  will  fill  your 
disgusting  pipe,  and  you  shall  smoke.  WTe'll  both 
smoke,"  said  Henriette,  and  waited  a  minute  expec- 
tantly. Her  smoking  usually  annoyed  him. 

"  Any  more  ?  "  inquired  Jem.  He  knew  well  from 
her  manner  that  there  was.  Her  great  beautiful  eyes 
were  darting  everywhere  except  in  his  direction. 

"  Yes,  one  thing  more."  She  clasped  his  arm 
tightly  as  she  knelt  beside  him.  "  If  you  don't  say 
silly  sudden  things  and  make  me  nervous — while  we 
are  smoking  after  supper — I'll  tell  you  a  secret." 

M.  Lemaure  returned  very  late,  and  found  them 
together.  Henriette  had  stopped  smoking  some  time 
before,  but  it  seemed  to  have  soothed  her,  for  her 


70  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

head  lay  on  her  husband's  knee.  She  sprang  quickly 
up  when  her  father  entered,  and  met  him  eagerly. 

"  Tu  es  content  ?  "  she  asked  in  the  formula, 
putting  her  arms  up  to  him. 

"  Je  suis  content,  ma  fille,"  said  he,  and  kissed  her. 

Then  she  drew  him  into  her  pretty  room,  planted 
him  in  a  cushioned  chair,  and  forbade  him  peremp- 
torily to  talk  until  he  had  thoroughly  warmed  himself 
and  drunk  the  hot  spiced  wine  she  had  prepared  for 
him.  When  he  looked  quite  comfortable  to  her 
critical  eye,  she  sat  down  on  Bebe's  stool  at  his  feet 
and  began  an  examination. 

"  First,  the  reception,"  she  announced.  "  Who 
was  there  ?  " 

"  Everybody  in  St.  Aviel,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  "  with 
the  exception  of  those  unfortunates  who  were  not." 

"  There's  one  bad  mark,"  said  Henriette,  touching 
it  off  with  a  finger  upon  his  knee.  "  Second  ques- 
tion :  how  did  everybody  behave  ?  " 

"  Very  noisily.     Especially  everybody's  wife." 

"  I  am  somebody's  wife,"  said  Henriette  with 
dignity,  and  she  put  down  another  finger. 

"  Third  question,"  he  prompted  her  :  "  How  was 
everybody's  wife  dressed  ?  Answer — not  so  well  as 
somebody's.  Take  off  those  two  fingers,  my  child." 

Henriette  took  them  off  and  seized  his  hand. 

"  Dearest,"  she  cried,  losing  sight  of  the  examina- 
tion, "  did  you  remark  Suzanne  Schindler  ?  " 

"  Quite  plainly.     It  is  not  easy  to  miss  her." 

"  She  wanted  to  scratch  me,"  said  Henriette 
pensively. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  M.  Lemaure.  "  She 
concealed  it  very  well." 

"  Might  I  ask  why  the  lady  wanted  to  scratch 
you  ?  "  Jem  inquired. 

"  Certainly,  dear,"  she  said,  beaming  on  him. 
"  Firstly,  because  she  always  hated  me.  Secondly, 


HENRIETTE  71 

because  she  has  grown  fat  and  I  have  not.  Thirdly, 
because  she  knew  I  knew  she  used  to  sing  twice  as 
well  as  she  does  now.  ^Fourthly,  because  the  trim- 
ming of  her " 

"That'll  do,"  James  said  hastily.  "I  am  only 
surprised  she  refrained." 

"  She  sang  extremely  well,  I  thought,  my  dear " 

"  Papa  !  " 

"  This  evening,"  her  father  finished  suavely. 
Henriette  looked  at  him  in  disdainful  silence.  "  And 
she  told  me  at  the  reception  that  she  thought  you 
were  prettier  than  ever." 

" Dear  Suzanne,"  said  Henriette.  "She  always  had 
rather  a  heavy  hand  in  compliments.  An  ox  among 
the  teacups,  as  Jem  and  those  people  would  say." 

"  If  she  could  have  a  specimen  of  yours,"  Jem 
murmured,  "  she  might  know  what  a  light  hand  is." 

"  Go  to  sleep,"  Henriette  advised  him.  "  Come 
papa,  get  on.  What  were  the  princes  and  princesses 
like  ?  Did  they  behave  nicely  to  you  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,  all  of  them.  That  is,  of  course,  all 
except  Prince  Heinrich,  who  did  not  behave  at  all." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Henriette,  deeply  interested. 
"  Jem,  I  told  you  to  go  to  sleep.  I  am  talking  to 
papa,  in  confidence.  Apropos  of  young  men,  papa, 
did  that  little  Irishman  sing  again  ?  " 

Her  father  nodded.  "  I  asked  him  to  come  to  visit 
me  in  Paris.  He  is  a  nice  young  fellow,  modest  and 
comme-il-f  aut . " 

Henriette  put  up  a  critical  lip.  "He  has — taste," 
she  said. 

"  Excellent  taste,"  her  father  agreed.  "  He  fell  in 
love  with  Bebe." 

Jem's  eyes  came  open  again.  "  What  name  ?  "  he 
demanded. 

Henriette  took  a  long  breath  and  told  him.  "  I 
knew  a  fellow "  he  began. 


72  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  No,  you  didn't,"  said  Henrietta.  "  Or  at  any 
rate  it  is  not  the  same.  This  one  is  a  sweet  little 
cherub,  several  yards  long — as  long  as  his  name — 
with  the  smile  of  an  infant.  And  so,  being  an  infant, 
of  course  he  made  friends  with  Bebe — who  has  just 
about  ten  times  his  artistic  capacity.  Oh  papa !  if  you 
had  seen  his  face  in  the  Larghetto.  I  nearly  cried." 

She  had  dropped  her  head  upon  her  arms  on  his 
knee,  and  her  father  laid  his  beautiful  hand  upon  it. 
There  ensued  a  long  pause,  while  both  the  men 
watched  her  in  the  firelight. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Henriette,  "  that  I  shall  ever 
hear  him  play  the  Concerto  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  my  love  ?  " 

"  Qui  sait  ?  "  she  shrugged.  "Who  knows,  why  not. 
Only  when  I  think  about  it,  it  seems — rather 
ridiculous." 

She  laughed  suddenly,  the  most  despairing  little 
laugh,  more  piercing  to  those  who  heard  it  than  her 
ready  tears  could  have  been. 

"  It  was  ridiculous,"  said  Henriette,  turning  her 
head  over  on  his  knee,  "  when  I  had  you.  Heaps  of 
times,  when  I  was  alone,  I  used  to  giggle  at  it. 
Then  he  came  along  " — she  threw  out  a  hand — "  and 
it  got  a  little  sillier  still.  He  knows  it  quite  well 
really,  and  so  do  you.  Well,  things  can't  go  on  for 
ever  like  that.  When  it  gets  too  silly  to  bear,  they 
will  say,  '  Look  here,  this  is  enough.'  ' 

She  laughed  again,  and  rose  to  stir  the  fire. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  as  she  knelt  holding  her 
hands  to  it,  "  if  I  tried  hard  to  grow  up — if  Jem  gave 
me  lessons,  in  English,  how  to  be  good — if  they 
would  let  me  be  the  mother  of  a  great  artist.  You 
know  the  kind  I  mean  :  the  good,  old  mother,  who 
sits  in  a  lace  cap  to  listen  in  the  front  row.  The 
good — old— mother." 


HENRIETTE  73 

She  rose  and  faced  them  defiantly  on  the  hearth, 
a  slim,  white  figure  against  the  blaze. 

"  I  have  always  had  what  I  wanted.  Why 
shouldn't  I  have  that  ?  What  are  you  shaking  your 
head  about,  papa  ?  Shouldn't  I  be  a  charming, 
good,  old  mother  ?  " 

"  Charming,  beyond  a  doubt.  But  as  for  the 
others " 

"  Not  my  style,"  Henriette  suggested,  chin  in  air. 

"  I  simply  cannot  see  you,  my  dear.  It  may  be 
my  stupidity.  Ask  Jem." 

"  Jem's  cross,"  she  said,  eyeing  him  askance. 

He  rose  quickly  and  stood  beside  her.  Henriette 
leant  against  him,  looking  more  childish  than  ever 
when  they  were  together. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  her  little  grimace  at  him, 
"  Tell  me  I  am  perfect,  then,  and  I  won't  tease  any 
more.  Quick,  say  it." 

Jem  shook  his  head. 

"  Can't  you  ?  "  she  said,  gazing  up.  "  Not  one  nice 
little  one  ?  Not  even  to-night  ?  "  No  response. 
"  Well — nearly  perfect,  then." 

"  All  I  want,"  said  Jem,  very  low. 

"  I  am  all  he  wants,  papa  !  I  am — sufficient. 
Do  you  hear — can  you  believe  it  ?  All  these  years 
have  passed,  and  I — still — suffice.  Congratulate 
your  daughter,  darling." 

M.  Lemaure  rose  in  his  turn,  held  her  face  a 
minute,  and  looked  into  her  eyes.  James  and  she 
were  poles  asunder,  but  they  were  alike  in  one  thing  : 
their  secrets  were  not  difficult  to  divine.  Indeed  he 
felt  deeply,  looking  into  those  almost  unearthly  eyes, 
that  "  they,"  the  strong  arbiters  of  her  rebellious  life, 
had  dealt  well  with  Henriette. 

He  did  not  congratulate  ;  but  blessed  her  with  a 
smile,  and  sent  her  to  bed. 


74  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Next  morning  he  left  them,  and  returned  to  his 
studious  solitude.  Neither  he  nor  James,  however, 
forgot  her  words  and  manner  that  night ;  indeed, 
they  had  no  chance  to  forget,  for  Henriette  left  them 
no  time.  Like  all  her  great  dramatic  coups,  the  one 
she  had  foreshadowed  then  to  their  hearts  came 
swiftly.  Swift  telling  is  the  best  for  it  also.  As 
though  following  out  one  line  of  her  planning,  all 
that  winter  through — a  winter  almost  unheard  of  on 
the  coast  for  storms  and  fury,  Henriette,  as  it  seems, 
made  efforts  to  "  grow  up."  It  really  seemed  to 
Jem,  watching  her,  that  she  had  at  last  laid  aside  her 
clinging  youth  ;  or — the  fancy  struck  him  at  times 
— as  if  she  wished  to  demonstrate  to  him,  just  for  a 
season,  as  a  child  plays  seriously  at  being  old,  her 
whole  conception  of  what  a  wife  could  be. 

Jem  struggled  bravely  ;  fighting  the  fates  whose 
voices  he  heard  each  night  in  the  howling  wind  ; 
but  something  much  deeper  than  his  reason  told  him 
that  he  could  not  keep  her,  and  so  it  proved. 

The  swift  end  to  the  drama  of  her  life  came  in 
early  March,  when  she  did  what  she  could  to  fulfil 
her  promise  to  him  by  giving  him  a  little  daughter, 
a  feeble  spirit,  who  looked  out  upon  the  hard  world 
only  to  leave  it.  They  told  Jem  that  Henriette 
should  not  know  of  it  ;  but  she  looked  at  him  with 
her  beautiful  wild  eyes,  and  he  told  her  the  truth,  as 
he  had  never  failed  to  do. 

"  She  was  very  ugly,"  said  Henriette  then  to 
console  him.  "  If  she  had  grown  up  like  that  I 
should  only  have  hated  her  ;  and  if  she  had  grown 
up  pretty,  I  should  have  hated  her  worse.  It's  all 
— for  the  best — perhaps." 

Later  came  fierce  rebellion  ;  and  later  still  some 
graver  thoughts,  as  she  clung  to  his  strong  hand. 

"  Papa  will  be  sorry,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "You 
had  better  tell  him  when  you  go — I  am  content." 


II.  HUNTLY 


MRS.  EDGELL,  sweeping  along  the  passage  to  her 
husband's  study  in  the  wing  late  on  Sunday  afternoon, 
found  him,  as  she  expected,  comfortably  extended  on 
two  chairs.  A  book  was  on  his  knee,  but  he  was  not 
reading.  She  suspected  by  his  look  that  he -had  just 
woken  up.  He  turned  his  eyes  to  her  lazily  as  she 
rustled  in. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  to  tea  ?  "  she  said  rather 
testily.  "  It  has  been  in  for  ever  so  long." 

"  Who's  here  ?"  said  Huntly  with  a  yawn. 

"  Only  the  Culver  girls,  and  you  know  you  like 
them." 

"  I  like  'em,"  said  Huntly,  "on  weekdays.  I  can't 
stand  any  women  on  Sunday." 

"  How  absurd  you  are,"  said  Mrs.  Edgell,  advanc- 
ing into  the  room.  Sometimes  she  wished  that  her 
husband  would  not  be  such  a  schoolboy  :  it  laid 
unnecessary  stress  on  the  difference  of  age  between 
them.  She  went  to  the  window  and  paused  there. 
The  study  she  had  furnished  for  him  was  a  wonder- 
fully charming  room,  and  the  fresh  spring  garden 
looked  delicious  from  its  long  windows.  Mrs. 
Edgell,  who,  though  lacking  in  the  higher  critical 
powers,  had  the  instinct  for  comfort  of  a  cat,  felt  a 
vague  satisfaction  in  lingering. 

"As  if,"  she  went  on,  "  the  day  made  any  difference 
in  people." 

"  It  don't,"  said  Huntly,  "  in  us — except  to  cloud 
the  brain  a  trifle.  But  women  change  all  through, 

77 


78  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

not  only  the  swish  in  their  clothes.  I  shan't  get  a 
spark  out  of  Dolly  Culver  to-day,  and  she's  not  half 
a  bad  little  cat  on  weekdays.  Think  I'll  stop  here, 
Sylvia,  thank  you." 

Mrs.  Edgell  sat  down.  After  all,  what  was  the  use 
of  a  grown-up  daughter  if  she  could  not  look  after 
visitors  for  a  few  minutes  ;  it  was  always  convenient 
to  shift  things  on  to  Isabel ;  besides,  she  was  ex- 
ceedingly fond  of  Huntly. 

"  I  think  you  might  come,"  she  said,  softening  her 
tone  to  one  of  mild  injury  merely.  "  Dorothy  is 
going  to  play  to  us  presently,  and  it's  the  first  day 
Hal  has  been  downstairs,  and  he  has  hardly  seen  you." 

"  Down,  is  he  ?  "  said  Hal's  father.  "  That's  all 
right.  Taking  a  dose  of  flattery,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,  really  he  is  clever,"  said  Mrs.  Edgell. 
"No  one  could  help  laughing  at  the  things  he  says. 
I  can't  think  where  he  picks  up  his  words.  I  often 
have  to  go  to  the  dictionary." 

Huntly  frowned. 

"  For  Lord's  sake,"  he  said,  "  don't  set  him  up 
about  his  style.  That's  the  worst  of  you  women. 
Hal  has  no  idea  of  using  words.  That  French  kid 
of  Jem's  has  more." 

Mrs.  Edgell  fired  up. 

"  Huntly  !  The  boy's  English  is  a  disgrace.  And 
Hal  talks  like  a  book  ;  everybody  says  so." 

"  Lazy  and  slipshod,"  Huntly  pronounced.  "  He 
chucks  words  about,  like  all  reading  youngsters  of 
his  age  ;  but  he  has  yet  to  begin  to  learn  their  value." 

"  You  are  such  a  tease,"  said  Mrs.  Edgell.  "  So 
perverse,  I  mean." 

"  That's  better,"  said  Huntly.  "  Try  again  and 
you'll  hit  it." 

'  You're  like  a  horrid  boy,"  she  said,  smiling  un- 
willingly. 

"  Like  Hal,  in  fact  ?  " 


HUNTLY  79 

"  Well,  you  are,"  she  said  softening.  "  Only  he's 
not  a  horrid  boy." 

Huntly  chuckled  gently.  "  I  say,  Sylvia."  He 
gave  her  a  sidelong  glance  as  she  sat  in  an  elegant 
and  meditative  posture  by  the  open  window.  "  That 
kid  plays  well." 

"  Antoine  ?  "  She  turned  round.  "  Why,  when 
have  you  heard  him  ?  " 

"  He's  been  at  it  up  there  this  afternoon."  He 
jerked  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  upper  rooms 
of  the  wing.  "  Not  fooling  either  :  working  like  the 
deuce." 

"  This  afternoon  !  "  The  colour  came  slightly  to 
Mrs.  Edgell's  cheek.  "  You  mean  to  tell  me  he  has 
practised — to-day  ?  " 

"  Oh  lor',  I  forgot,"  said  Huntly,  who  had  a  boy's 
objection  to  tale-bearing.  "I  suppose  he's  another 
of  the  people  to  whom  the  day  makes  no  difference." 

"  I'll  see  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Edgell,  the  line  of 
her  mouth  tightening  a  little.  "  It's  like  his  cool- 
ness :  and  without  even  asking  if  he  was  disturbing 
any  one." 

"  Don't  concern  yourself  about  me,"  said  Huntly. 
"  It's  rather  soothing  to  hear  anybody  exerting  them- 
selves. I  thought,"  he  added,  "  you  said  Dolly 
Culver  was  going  to  perform." 

"  Playing,"  said  Mrs.  Edgell,  "  is  a  very  different 
thing  from  practising.  I  should  have  thought  you 
would  have  seen  that.  Besides,  Dorothy  always 
knows  how  to  choose  suitably.  She  has  a  really  fine 
sense  in  those  things  for  such  a  young  girl.  Well  " — 
she  rose — "  I  expect  you  to  come,  Huntly.  It  is  hard 
on  poor  Dolly  to  have  only  us  three  to  listen." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Huntly,  "  it  spoils  your  sleep  to 
be  expected  :  so  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to.  Tell  you 
what  ;  I'll  fetch  that  kid  up  there  along,  and  make 
him  listen  too." 


80  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

There  was  sufficient  entertainment  in  the  thought 
to  lend  him  energy  to  mount  the  stairs. 

Antoine  was  sitting  on  his  bed,  the  violin  beside 
him.  He  was  much  surprised  at  his  uncle's  entrance, 
and  stared. 

"  You're  expected,"  Huntly  informed  him,  "  when 
tea-time  arrives,  to  come  down  to  tea." 

"  Is  it  arrived  ?  "  said  Antoine. 

"  Imperceptibly,"  said  his  uncle,  "  without  a  bell. 
Tea-time  to-day  emerges,  so  to  speak,  out  of  the  void. 
I  was  asleep  too,  as  it  happens." 

"  I  was  not  asleep,"  said  Antoine,  still  staring. 
The  likeness  and  unlikeness  of  Huntly  to  his  father 
was  fascinating.  It  appeared  and  vanished  con- 
stantly in  face  and  voice. 

"  Then  you  ought  to  have  been,"  said  Huntly. 
"  You  are  not  expected,  Antoine,  I  may  mention,  to 
make  a  noise  on  Sunday." 

No  answer  for  a  minute.  "  The  organ  over  there," 
said  Antoine,  turning  his  eyes  towards  the  spire  of 
the  church  visible  above  the  trees  from  his  window, 
"  has  made  a  noise." 

"  That,"  said  Huntly,  "  is  entirely  different.  An 
organ  may  deafen  you  if  it  likes,  but  the  least  squeak 
of  a  scale  awakens  comment  and  condemnation." 

"  Oh,"  said  Antoine,  his  brows  contracting.  His 
uncle's  words  were  as  bad  as  Henry's.  He  was  a 
most  peculiar  man  altogether,  by  no  means  as  easy 
to  deal  with  as  his  father  ;  but  the  likeness  was 
attractive  when  it  came,  and  his  presence  decidedly 
preferable  to  that  of  any  one  else  in  the  house,  except 
possibly  Isabel  Guthrie.  His  uncle  seemed  to  be  wait- 
ing for  him,  so  he  put  the  violin  hastily  away  and  rose. 

"  You'd  better  bring  it  down,"  said  his  uncle,  watch- 
ing his  deft  decided  movements.  "  The  expectation 
may  extend  to  your  obliging  the  company." 


HUNTLY  81 

The  boy  jerked  round.  "  You  mean,"  he  said, 
"  that  I  shall  play  to  them." 

"  I  hope  I  mean  that,"  said  Huntly.  "  It  sounds 
like  my  native  language." 

Antoine,  after  another  blank  stare,  laughed 
suddenly. 

"  You  are  curious,"  he  observed  :  and  as  he  went 
down  at  his  uncle's  side,  put  his  hand  up  on  his  arm. 

Huntly  gave  him  a  quick,  almost  shy  look.  The 
boy  had  been  three  days  in  the  house,  and  he  had 
not  approached  to  grasping  him  at  present.  He  had 
been  annoyed  at  intervals  by  his  pertness,  and  he 
felt  for  his  wife  in  her  annoyance  at  the  calm  inde- 
pendence of  his  behaviour  ;  at  intervals  he  was 
amused  by  him,  especially  when  he  "  flared  out  "  as 
just  now  ;  when  he  laughed  he  was  almost  engaging. 
He  was  still  smiling  a  little,  yet  his  uncle  could  have 
sworn  he  was  on  the  edge  of  tears  three  minutes 
since  when  he  broke  in  upon  his  meditations.  He 
was  alien  altogether,  past  the  possibility  of  ignoring  in 
his  own  well-trained,  well-oiled  household.  Huntly 
hated  bother,  and  he  felt  a  slight  resentment  against 
Jem  for  letting  him  in,  without  fair  warning,  for  what 
seemed  vaguely  to  promise  it. 

The  offer  to  take  him  had  originally  been  Huntly's 
own,  and  it  had  happened  to  fall  at  a  critical  moment. 
James,  who  had  suffered  lately  from  malaria  in 
Egypt,  had  allowed  himself  a  short  interval  in  Paris 
on  his  return,  and  had  devoted  his  leisure  to 
quarrelling  with  his  brother-in-law.  He  had  evidently 
committed  himself  to  certain  theories  as  regarded 
Antoine's  future,  and  being  put  to  it  in  French  circles 
to  defend  them,  was  becoming  more  downright  and 
didactic  at  every  moment.  It  was  then  that  Huntly, 
warmly  in  accord  with  his  brother's  educational 
views,  and  seeing,  on  the  evidence  of  recent  letters, 
old  Jem  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  barked  at  by  a 

F 


82  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

foreign  herd,  felt  a  family  call  to  step  in.  The  elder 
Lemaure  was  ill,  it  seemed  :  the  younger  on  the  point 
of  marrying  :  Jem  himself  clearly  once  more  tugging 
at  the  rope  of  civilisation  ;  so  that  Jem's  younger  boy 
was  for  the  moment Jsuperfluous.  Huntly,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  in  want  of  company  for  his  own 
delicate  precocious  son,  so  he  offered  in  a  short, 
well-worded  letter  to  solve  the  difficulty  by  taking 
Antoine  under  his  own  roof  for  a  year. 

The  well-planted  offer  took  effect.  James,  after  a 
week's  complete  silence,  wrote  acceptance  in  terms 
as  brief.  He  saw  "  points  "  in  Ted's  proposal,  and 
was  much  obliged  to  him  and  Sylvia  for  making  it. 
A  bit  more  of  Lucien's  jawing,  and  he  would  have 
carried  off  the  kid  himself  to  California.  As  it  was, 
he  would  "  square  "  his  father-in-law — an  operation 
needing,  it  appeared,  some  delicate  attention — and 
leave  him  to  "  forward  the  freight  "  early  in  April. 
"  It's  a  light  weight,"  said  Jem,  "  but  it's  not  so  badly 
put  together.  You'll  soon  see  how  it  works,  if  you've 
the  smartness  I  give  you  credit  for.  It'll  do  you 
good  to  try."  He  added  that  if  Huntly  got  sick  of 
it,  he  could  pass  the  boy  on  later  to  Lucien,  who 
was  playing  with  an  English  appointment,  and  would 
probably  settle  in  London  for  the  winter.  "  Only 
for  lord's  sake,  Ted,  give  his  wife  time  to  improve 
his  temper  first,  or  he'll  rake  it  up  again,  and  it's 
rough  on  the  kid.  Besides,  I'm  no  good  at  fighting  by 
post  :  not  to  mention  I'll  be  taken  up  with  a  big  thing 
out  there,  and  I'm  not  so  young  as  I  used  to  be." 

After  which  Jem  took  a  chaffing  farewell  of  his 
younger  brother  in  three  lines,  and  shortly  after  left 
Europe  for  a  "  year  or  two  "  to  try  a  new  continent, 
and  new  work  which  promised  distraction  very  much 
to  his  taste  ;  and  with  no  further  directions  as  to 
treatment,  Huntly  was  left  to  make  the  best  of  the 
"  freight  "  when  it  came. 


HUNTLY  83 

In  the  drawing-room,  Antoine's  aunt's  reception 
of  him  was  rather  crushing,  and  for  a  time  he  retired 
into  the  background. 

"  You  really  can't  expect  any  tea,"  she  said  sotto 
voce,  "  when  you  come  as  late  as  this." 

Antoine  apologised  gently,  taking  note  of  the  fact, 
by  the  way,  that  his  uncle  was  fed  without  protest. 
Yet  his  uncle  knew  when  tea-time  "  emerged  "  in 
this  house,  and  he  did  not.  They  all  talked  to  the 
young  ladies,  to  whom  he  was  not  presented.  One  of 
the  young  ladies  was  very  pretty,  so  Antoine  watched 
her  at  intervals,  and  seized  some  cake  on  the  sly  with 
a  glance  at  Henry.  He  had  early  discovered  that 
Hal  agreed  with  him  in  liking  good  things  to  eat,  so 
he  regarded  it  as  safe  to  take  him  into  the  cake 
conspiracy.  Hal  had  finished  his  own  tea  long  since, 
and  was  occupying  the  whole  of  the  sofa,  coughing 
at  intervals,  and  making  witty  observations  in  be- 
tween. After  a  time  Miss  Guthrie  saw  that  Antoine 
had  nothing  to  drink,  and  gave  him  the  milk  he 
asked  for.  Antoine  had  a  thrill  of  gratitude  towards 
her,  for  he  was  very  thirsty.  He  drank  it  nearly  all, 
and  with  the  last  drops  tempted  Friday,  the  black 
kitten,  to  him  across  the  floor,  round  the  skirts  of  the 
two  young  ladies.  Henry  saw  this  proceeding  too, 
for  it  was  not  easy  to  escape  his  sharp  eyes  ;  besides, 
Friday  was  his,  and  Tony  had  no  right  to  feed  it. 
The  kitten,  however,  was  as  thirsty  as  Antoine,  and 
quite  obviously  as  grateful  to  him  as  he  had  been  to 
Isabel,  though  it  expressed  it  simply  by  leaping  on 
his  knee  with  a  subdued  rattle  in  its  throat.  Antoine 
attended  to  it  with  one  finger,  but  the  conversation 
happened  at  this  point  to  become  suddenly  interest- 
ing, and  his  ears  and  eyes  were  diverted  from  Friday 
to  those  who  talked. 

They  had  been  dealing  with  preachers  at  Rox- 
minster,  the  neighbouring  cathedral  town. 


84  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  The  Bishop  next  week,  is  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Edgell. 
"  There,  Isabel,  what  a  comfort  we  did  not  go  to-day. 
I  had  thought,"  she  said  to  the  guests,  with  a  slight 
glance  round,  "  of  taking  my  nephew  over  to  service 
to-day,  but  we  gave  up  the  plan.  Now  he  can 
hear  one  of  the  finest  preachers  in  England  next 
Sunday." 

The  pretty  Miss  Culver  threw  a  slightly  mis- 
chievous smile  to  the  boy,  which  Antoine  instantly 
returned  ;  while  her  sister  continued. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  she  said,  "  that  Dr.  Hugueson  will 
not  be  playing  next  Sunday.  I  never  care  much  for 
that  young  Vidal,  do  you  ?  ' 

"  You  never  mean  old  Hugueson's  going  away  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Edgell. 

"  Yes,  to  London.  Isn't  it  unheard  of  ?  " 
"  He  had  better  let  young  Vidal  take  it  altogether, 
said  Mrs.  Edgell.  "  If  you  ask  me,  he's  as  mad  as  a 
March  hare.  Why,  he  has  been  there  as  long  as  I 
can  remember,  or  the  Canon  either."  (Mrs.  Edgell 
always  spoke  of  her  father  by  his  title.)  "  It's  high 
time  we  had  a  change." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Edgell! "'  cried  Dorothy,  who  was 
emphatic.  "  I  think  he's  a  duck.  And  I  adore  his 
old  house  too  in  the  close  ;  it's  a  pet.  I  was  so 
sorry  when  I  stopped  going  there  for  lessons." 

"  Let's  see — it's  young  Randall  you  learn  from, 
isn't  it  ?  "  said  Huntly. 

"  Yes,"  Dorothy  answered,  "  but  he's  not  half  so 
sweet  as  his  father." 

"  Over  seventy,  is  it  ?  "  Huntly  inquired.  "  When 
I  turn  sweet,  I  hope  you'll  let  me  know." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Edgell,"  said  Dorothy.  "  He  really  is. 
He's  like  a  dear  old  spider,  shambling  about  the 
streets." 

"  Shambling  is  good,"  said  Huntly.  "  I'll  prac- 
tise it." 


HUNTLY  85 

Dorothy  turned  from  him  to  Antoine,  whose  eyes, 
alight  with  interest,  had  caught  her  attention. 

"  He's  one  of  the  sights  of  Roxminster,  you  know," 
she  said.  "  Mind  you  don't  forget  to  look  out  for 
him  when  you  go  over." 

"  I  wish  to  see  him,"  said  Antoine  simply.  Which 
was  the  fact,  for  the  man  they  discussed  was  one  of 
his  grandfather's  oldest  friends  in  England,  and  he 
had  the  full  intention  of  going  to  see  him  as  soon  as 
a  chance  offered.  Roxminster  was  eight  miles  away 
from  Wainfield  by  road,  and  a  good  half-hour's 
journey  by  rail ;  but  Antoine  had  an  easy  idea  of 
distance,  as  he  had  of  his  present  circumstances. 
His  view  was  that  if  it  was  necessary  to  go,  he  would 
get  there  ;  and  three  days  at  Wainfield  had  made  a 
change  of  some  sort  in  the  near  future  distinctly 
necessary.  Merely  to  go  anywhere  out  of  range  of 
his  aunt's  voice  would  be  a  comfort,  or  the  glance 
of  her  sharp  blue  eyes.  An  expedition  to  the  town 
on  his  own  account  promised  relief  from  these  and 
other  things  that  annoyed  him  daily  in  his  uncle's 
house.  He  merely  noted  that  it  would  be  advisable 
to  go  soon,  before  Dr.  Hugueson  left  for  London, 
and  had  no  further  misgivings  on  the  subject. 

Absent  as  he  was,  turning  over  these  matters,  he 
suddenly  became  conscious  that  the  pretty  Dorothy 
was  looking  at  him  with  amusement. 

"  Plait-il  ?  "  he  said  rousing,  for  he  thought  he 
must  have  missed  a  remark. 

"Don't  go  to  sleep,  Antoine,"  said  his  aunt,  looking 
round.  "  Come,  you  shall  ring  for  them  to  take 
away  the  tea,  and  then  you  might  fetch  Miss  Culver's 
violin  out  of  the  hall,  do  you  hear  ?  She  is  going  to 
be  so  very  kind  as  to  play  to  us." 

Mrs.  Edgell's  voice  was  naturally  high  and  petu- 
lant, and  she  spoke  to  Antoine,  being  a  foreigner, 
louder  than  was  strictly  necessary.  He  almost 


86  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

visibly  winced  from  her  tone,  as,  tucking  Friday 
under  one  arm,  he  rose  to  obey. 

"He's  anything  but  deaf,  Sylvia,"  Huntly  ob- 
served. 

"  Well,  I  never  know  if  he  understands,"  said  Mrs. 
Edgell.  "  He's  got  such  a  way  of  looking  at  you." 

"  I  think  he's  rather  a  pet,"  opined  Dorothy,  to 
whom  everything  was  that,  that  was  the  least  un- 
usual. "  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  My  husband's  eldest  brother's  boy."  Mrs. 
Edgell  lowered  her  voice.  "  Come  to  have  lessons 
with  Hal  for  a  year,  before  he  goes  to  school.  His 
father's  gone  off  to  the  other  side  of  the  world,  and 
left  him  to  be  brought  up  anyhow  abroad.  Dear 
Mr.  Edwardes  is  in  despair  about  him,  he's  so 
ignorant." 

"  Oh  my,  Doll,"  said  Henry.  "  You  ought  to  see 
his  spelling.  I'm  riot  half  sure  though,  he  doesn't 
put  it  on  a  bit.  Of  course  it  is  a  lark  to  make  old 
Teddy  sit  up  and  bleat." 

"  Hal,  dearest,"  Mrs.  Edgell  murmured.  Such 
mention  of  the  vicar  on  Sunday  was  hardly  suitable. 

"  I  have  yet  to  learn  what  Edwardes  thinks  of 
him,"  said  Huntly. 

"  I  can  tell  you,  papa,"  said  Hal.  "  He  thinks 
he's  an  incorrigible  athlete." 

"  ^Esthete,"  his  father  suggested. 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Hal,  with  a  frown.  He  objected 
to  being  put  right  in  public. 

Commentary  was  cut  off,  as  the  boy  himself 
returned.  Huntly  kept  him  well  in  view  during 
the  Culver  sisters'  performance.  He  sat  still  and 
solitary,  for  Friday,  who  disapproved  of  stringed 
instruments,  had  deserted  him  for  the  most  distant 
corner  of  the  room.  His  eyes  were  on  Miss  Dorothy's 
face  as  she  played  an  exquisitely-chosen  piece  of 
music  called  a  "  Meditation  "  on  something  which 


HUNTLY  87 

was  no  doubt  worth  meditating  upon.  Miss  Dolly 
was  shy  in  playing  ;  she  had  turned  rather  pink,  and 
her  eyes  were  bright  and  earnest,  and  her  wrist 
looked  very  pretty  with  the  flash  of  the  jewelled 
bracelet  upon  it.  In  fact,  Huntly  agreed  with  his 
nephew  that  she  was  quite  worth  watching.  At  the 
end,  she  sank  with  a  sigh  into  a  seat,  and  pushed 
back  the  side-waves  of  her  hair. 

"  I  think,"  Mrs.  Edgell  said  pensively,  "  that  I  like 
that  best  of  all  your  things,  Dorothy.  It  suits  you 
so  well." 

Presently,  after  Aimee  had  played,  society  de- 
manded a  return  of  favours. 

"  Now,  Isabel,"  said  Mrs.  Edgell,  who  never  gave 
up  asking  her  daughter  to  perform  in  public,  and 
complaining  of  her  when  she  refused,  as  she  in- 
variably and  quietly  did. 

"  With  all  the  money  your  poor  father  spent  on 
you,"  Mrs.  Edgell  was  wont  to  argue,  "and  the 
scales  I  used  to  stand  day  and  night."  The  reproach 
was  elaborated  now. 

"  Save  me,  darling,"  said  Isabel,  putting  an  arm 
round  Antoine.  "  That  is  what  you  have  come  for, 
did  you  know  ?  Whenever  mother  worries  me, 
you  must  offer  instantly.  Do  you  mind  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Antoine,  and  could  not  imagine 
why  they  laughed.  It  was  so  obvious  to  do  promptly 
what  Isabel  asked  him  ;  besides,  he  had  not  the 
least  objection  to  playing,  especially  in  the  state  of 
mind  which  had  been  heaping  itself  up  recklessly 
within  him  all  day,  like  a  turbulent  wave  of  which 
the  crest  seemed  choking  him.  He  had  an  idea 
that  if  he  tried  he  could  cut  through  the  atmo- 
sphere of  this  English  house,  and  find  the  one  he 
had  known  behind  it.  At  any  rate,  it  was  worth 
attempting. 

The  pretty  Culver  sister  was  much  amused  by 


88  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

his  rapid  businesslike  proceedings  ;  but  Aimee  on 
the  piano-stool  rather  stared  at  the  part  he  handed 
her. 

"  Preislied,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  haven't  I  played 
this  ?  "  She  looked  through  it  and  touched  some 
of  the  chords.  Antoine  waited  for  her  impatiently, 
frowning  with  his  head  up  ;  this  was  not  her  busi- 
ness really,  the  look  said  ;  it  was  his. 

Huntly  chuckled  silently  observing  him.  "  I 
knew  there  was  some  devil  in  it,"  he  was  thinking. 
As  the  boy  played  however,  his  expression  changed 
to  surprise  and  a  slight  discomfort.  Internally  he 
felt  that  a  kid  of  eleven  had  no  business  to  feel  like 
that,  and  certainly  no  business  to  proclaim  the 
feeling  in  the  cool  sanctuary  of  his  house.  It  was  the 
same  sensation  in  a  higher  degree  that  his  looks  and 
tones  had  aroused  before  ;  shortly  formulated,  it 
meant  that  he  was  going  to  be  a  bother ;  and  if  so 
Jem's  kid  or  not,  he  would  have  to  be  stamped  upon 
a  little. 

Even  while  he  thought  so,  he  admitted  the  beauty 
of  what  he  heard  ;  for  he  had  trained  his  judgment 
to  work  with  his  senses  ;  and  it  had  been  his  busi- 
ness, as  the  man  pointed  out  as  "  clever  "  by  his 
Oxford  and  London  circles,  to  keep  an  invulnerable 
attitude  with  regard  to  art.  Before  the  other  thoughts 
asserted  themselves,  Huntly  was  even  knocked  over 
for  half  a  minute :  and  got  to  his  legs  again  feeling 
the  least  trifle  crestfallen  and  resentful,  as  a  person 
in  such  circumstances  must  do. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Edgell,  "  that  is  what  you 
call  opera-music,  is  it  not  ?  "  She  was  flushed  with 
the  same  annoyance  of  which  Huntly  recognised  a 
sample  in  his  own  sentiments.  In  an  older  per- 
former it  would  have  been  simply  culpable  lack  of 
taste,  to  crush  out  Dorothy's  restrained  and  elegant 
effort  with  so  much  noise  and  show.  As  it  was  only  a 


HUNTLY  89 

child,  some  of  the  responsibility  fell  back  on  her, 
which  was  an  additional  grievance. 

Dorothy  felt  it,  naturally.  As  Aimee  turned  about 
on  the  stool,  she  sat  up,  and  they  exchanged  one 
glance. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  Mrs.  Edgell  ?  "  she  cried 
piteously.  "  Of  course  I  would  not  have  played." 
Her  little  face  was  as  pink  as  possible.  She  put  out 
a  hand  and  seized  Antoine. 

"  You  nasty  little  boy,"  she  said  with  energy.  "Do 
you  know  you  have  made  me  feel  simply  horrid  ?  " 

"  You  like  it  ?  "  he  said,  scanning  her  rather  eagerly. 
Seeing  her  flushed  look  his  heart  went  out  to  her. 
Here  was  a  person  who  felt  something  strongly  at 
least.  The  other  faces  had  hardly  changed,  for  all 
his  efforts :  and  the  room  with  all  its  paralysing 
elegance  seemed  to  crush  back  on  him. 

"Do  you  play  in  public  ?  "  said  Aimee  with 
solemnity. 

'  Oh  no  :  not  yet." 

'  Who  trained  you  ?  " 

'  M.  Lemaure." 

'  The  young  or  the  old  ?  " 

'B-both,  "said  Antoine,  his  voice  wavering  audibly. 

Miss  Guthrie  quietly  made  room  for  him,  and  he 
shrank  gratefully  down  behind  her.  She  offered 
some  explanations  to  Dorothy's  eager  questioning. 

"To  think  of  it,"  the  girl  cried.  "Why,  Mr. 
Hugueson,  my  master,  studied  with  Lemaure.  He 
boasted  he  was  the  last  pupil  he  ever  took  ;  just 
shows  what  his  statements  are  worth,  doesn't  it, 
Antoine.  Did  you  ever  see  Mr.  Hugueson,  I  wonder  ; 
I  mean  mine  ?  " 

The  boy  nodded  merely.  The  reaction  from  his 
big  effort  had  caught  him,  and  he  was  speechless. 

"  Poor  pet,"  said  Dorothy,  having  realised  it  : 
turned  aside  to  have  a  vigorous  passage  with  Huntly, 


go  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

and  soon  after  rose  to  go.  She  said  a  few  more 
sweet  little  words  to  Antoine  at  parting,  and  his  dark 
eyes  followed  her  regretfully  out  of  the  room.  He 
felt,  as  the  door  shut  on  her,  that  he  was  left  in  the 
cold — or  worse  to  him,  the  cool — again. 

"  Do  you  want  a  game  of  Halma,  dear  ?  "  said 
Isabel  kindly  to  her  young  step-brother. 

"  Don't  care  if  I  do,"  said  Hal,  yawning. 

"  No,  Isabel,"  her  mother  intervened.  "  I  had 
rather  that  you  did  some  quiet  reading  upstairs.  I 
have  no  objection  to  Henry's  having  a  game  with 
Antoine,  if  they  play  quietly.  But  don't  forget,"  she 
added,  pausing  at  the  door,  "  that  I  want  you  all  in 
the  library  at  seven,  for  hymns." 


II 

WHEN  Henry  forgot  that  Antoine  was  there  for  his 
moral  advantage  he  had  no  great  objection  to  him. 
How  he  discovered  this  fact  it  is  hard  to  say,  for 
everybody  in  the  house  took  the  greatest  pains  to  keep 
it  from  him.  But  of  course  Hal  knew  it  before  his 
cousin  arrived  under  the  Wainfield  roof,  and  made 
the  world  aware  of  his  natural  resentment. 

However,  when  he  came,  the  French  boy's  absur- 
dities proved  quite  entertaining,  and  his  ignorance 
was  a  perpetual  consolation.  Isabel,  the  wisest 
member  of  Henry's  circle,  had  suggested  to  him  that 
it  would  be  a  kindness  to  teach  his  cousin  to  speak 
correctly  before  he  went  to  Radfield  the  following 
year,  and  Hal  gave  his  great  mind  to  this  duty  from 
the  first. 

The  only  doubt  was,  as  with  the  spelling,  whether 
Antoine  did  not  sometimes  do  it  on  purpose.  The 
worst  of  Tony  was,  that  one  could  never  be  quite  sure 
when  he  was  not  acting.  He  tried  the  wildest  experi- 
ments, both  in  the  matter  and  manner  of  his  dis- 
course ;  his  power  of  mimicry  alone  was  almost 
alarming,  as  when  for  instance  he  shadowed  the 
manner  of  Hal's  mother  or  father,  careless  apparently 
whether  they  noticed  it  or  not.  In  the  same  way 
he  was  careless  in  language,  speaking  sometimes 
surprisingly  well,  sometimes  in  a  torrent  of  loosely- 
strung  words,  which  left  Henry  as  critic  quite  help- 
less. Nor  could  Hal  get  him  to  be  properly  serious 
on  the  subject  of  his  own  instruction. 

91 


92  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  How  he  is  thin,  that  little  cat,"  said  Antoine  of 
the  black  kitten. 

"Wecall littlecats in  England,  kittens, "saidHenry. 

"  Kitten,  yes  :  and  how  do  you  call  that  noise  they 
make  ?  " 

"  Mewing — confound  the  brutes." 

"  No,  no  :  the  rolling  noise."  He  lengthened  the 
'  r  '  suggestively. 

"  Purring.     Fancy  not  knowing  ihat" 

"  This  kitten — purrs,"  said  Antoine  to  himself. 

"  No,  you  ass  !  This  kitten  is  purring.  You  can't 
say  the  simplest  thing." 

"  But  purrs — is  purring — that  is  the  same." 

"  It's  nothing  of  the  kind.  You'd  better  accept 
what  I  tell  you,"  said  Hal  compassionately.  "  '  Is 
purring  '  is  right  '  Purrs  '  is  wrong.  No  one  ever 
says :  '  this  cat  purrs.'  You  might  as  well  say : 
'  This  tea  gets  cold  !  ' 

"  Cats  are  purring  the  same  language  in  England 
and  in  France,"  said  Antoine  after  an  interval,  as  he 
rubbed  the  black  kitten's  chin  with  careful  fingers. 
"That  had  a  wrong  sound,"  he  added,  glancing 
towards  his  cousin. 

"  It  had  an  idiotic  sound,"  said  Henry. 

"  But  what  must  I  say  ?  " 

"  Cats  purr,  of  course,  if  you  mean  general  cats,  I 
mean." 

"  But  I  thought  of  two  cats,  this  kitten  one  and  the 
great  one  of  my  grandfather.  Can  I  say  :  '  These 
two  cats  are  purring  the  same  ?  " 

"  No,  you  can't,"  said  Henry,  frowning.  "  Hang 
it  all,  why  can't  you  feel  what  it's  right  to  say.  Look 
here,"  after  a  considerable  pause.  "  Suppose  you 
say  '  my  dog  fights ' ;  and  some  one  else  says  '  My 
dog  is  fighting.'  What's  the  difference  between  those 
dogs  ?  Come  now." 

"  They  are  fighting  both  the  two  together,"  said 


HUNTLY  93 

Antoine  promptly.  "  Have  you  seen  a  dog  to  fight 
alone  with  itself  ?  Oh,  pardon,  but  the  dog  that  fights 
alone  !  "  His  giggle  was  infectious,  and  the  teacher 
was  caught  unawares. 

"What  a  fool  you  are,"  he  said,  in  defence  of  his 
smile. 

"  But  one  could  draw  that  dog,"  said  Antoine,  the 
tears  in  his  eyes.  "  And  I  saw  very  well  how  you 
meant  about  the  fighting.  You  shall  see,  now  I  will 
say  them  right." 

Hal  was  appeased,  even  gratified.  In  spite  of  his 
father  he  had  inherited  taste  for  language  ;  and 
another  inherited  taste  for  setting  others  right. 
When  Antoine  did  not  contradict  him  flat  his  gentle 
manners  were  rather  soothing  ;  only  you  could  never 
be  sure  which  of  the  two  things  he  was  going  to  do, 
or  whether  he  was  not  going  to  do  both  simul- 
taneously, so  you  had  to  keep  an  eye  upon  him  con- 
stantly. This  mixture  of  frankness  and  politeness 
he  used  to  everybody  ;  he  no  more  dropped  one 
ingredient  with  the  little  schoolroom  maid  who  was 
Henry's  favourite  drudge,  than  he  dropped  the  other 
with  Henry's  father.  The  little  maid  beamed  on 
Tony  in  consequence ;  and  his  uncle  not  infre- 
quently frowned. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Huntly  when  finally,  much 
against  his  will,  he  was  goaded  by  his  wife  to  speak 
to  him  on  his  general  deportment  in  the  house. 
"  You're  giving  your  aunt  a  lot  of  bother,  and  you'll 
have  to  drop  it." 

Tony  expressed  regret,  with  a  look  of  inquiry  ; 
he  was  anxious  to  know  what  he  had  to  drop. 

"  It's  a  great  bore,"  said  Huntly,  "  to  be  fetching 
you  to  meals  and  all  that.  You  must  look  out,  and 
be  on  the  spot  when  you  are  wanted,  do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  But  if  I  do  not  want  the  dinner  ?  "  said  Antoine, 
as  though  offering  a  poser.  His  ideas  of  when  to  be 


94  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

hungry  were  different  from  theirs,  having  been  used 
with  his  grandfather  to  breakfast  at  seven  and  lunch 
at  twelve.  The  consequence  was  that  he  begged 
food  from  the  servants  at  these  times,  and  could 
avoid  the  proper  hours  without  suffering. 

"  Then,"  said  Huntly,  his  eyes  narrowing  up,  "  I 
commiserate  you  sincerely,  but  you  must  sit  and 
watch  us  consume  it.  In  all  the  more  serious  cere- 
monies of  our  civilisation,  that  has  constantly  to  be 
done  ;  to  participate  complacently  without  complete 

sympathy.  Church,  for  instance "  Huntly 

paused. 

Antoine  broke  out  instantly. 

"When  you  speak  with  those  words,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  I  do  not  wish  to  understand." 

"  Go  it,"  his  uncle  applauded.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  you  make  yourself  to  be — so  not  like 
papa." 

"  Don't  let  us  wander  from  the  point,"  said 
Huntly.  "  I  never  was  much  like  your  father,  and 
you  won't  make  me  more  so  by  staring  at  me  all  day 
long."  The  boy  pulled  his  eyes  off  him,  blushing  a 
little.  "  What  were  we  talking  of  ?  " 

"  The  Church,"  said  Antoine,  "  but  that  is  not  to 
talk  of  now." 

"  Oh,"  said  Huntly.  "  Why  ?  "  He  was  not  sorry 
to  be  diverted  from  stricture,  which  bored  him.  As 
the  boy  failed  to  answer,  he  demanded  :  "  Are  you 
keen  on  the  Church,  Tony  ?  " 

He  struggled  a  minute,  and  then  said,  "  I  have 
seen  how  that  is,  to  be  keen." 

"  Your  aunt,  hey  ?  "  His  wife,  he  knew,  was  con- 
cerned about  Antoine's  young  mind,  and  watched 
narrowly  for  sprouts  of  papistical  seed.  Except  on 
the  personal  side  he  was  incurious  about  such  things 
himself. 

For  all  reply  the  boy  stared  out  of  the  window. 


HUNTLY  95 

Huntly  would  have  liked  to  ask  him  what  he  was 
thinking  of  with  that  frown  and  look  of  bitter  long- 
ing ;  he  had  surprised  it  more  than  once. 

"  Well,  to  come  back  to  the  point,"  he  said,  "  about 
being  up  to  time.  I  must  request  you  to  drop  all 
your  engagements  at  mealtimes  and  at  bedtime,  no 
matter  how  entrancing.  We  don't  want  to  have  to 
think  about  you  ;  you  simply  aren't  worth  it."  He 
smiled  pleasantly,  waiting  for  him  to  take  it  in. 
"  Behave  in  fact  for  a  time  so  that  we  can  forget  you 
comfortably.  That's  the  real  point  after  all." 

"  Are  you  not  forgetting  me  when  I  don't  come  to 
dinner  ?  "  said  Tony. 

"  No,"  Huntly  assured  him.  "  You  are  forgetting 
us,  which  is  quite  another  thing.  We  occupy  our 
minds  the  whole  time  in  considering  what  we  shall 
do  to  you  when  you  choose  to  appear." 

Antoine's  eyebrows  were  painfully  fixed  ;  Huntly 
was  amused  to  see  the  trouble  he  had  to  follow.  It 
was  the  power  he  felt  to  lead  him  a  dance,  intellectu- 
ally and  emotionally,  that  made  him  so  inclined  to 
his  whimsical  changes  of  front.  He  had  ascertained 
that,  in  some  way  for  which  he  could  hardly 
account,  he  had  had  the  boy's  full  attention  from 
the  first. 

"  Do  to  me,"  he  repeated  frowning.  "  But — you 
have  not  done  it." 

"  No,"  said  Huntly,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  why  if  you 
like."  He  considered  what  reason  he  should  give, 
and  then  offered  the  true  one.  "  We're  rather  a  lazy 
lot.  But,  if  you  get  dropped  on  suddenly  one  of 
these  days,  remember  that  I  warned  you." 

Tony's  frown  deepened.  "  You  do  it  suddenly," 
he  said  backing. 

"  A  bolt,"  said  his  uncle,  "  out  of  the  blue."  He 
smiled  at  him  again.  "  You  don't  like  sudden  things, 
do  you  now  ?  " 


96  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  I  will  try  to  remember,"  said  Antoine  ;  and  went 
away  very  obviously  depressed. 

"  One  to  me,"  thought  Huntly.  "  Jem  couldn't 
have  done  that  better.  All  the  same,"  he  added  to 
the  thought,  "I'll  warn  him  twice  before  I  do  it,  if  I 
do  it  then.  And  I've  more  than  half  an  idea  I  can 
get  my  knife  in  best  without  exerting  myself  at  all." 
So  pluming  himself  he  strolled  away. 

Antoine  was  thus  bound,  greatly  to  his  disappoint- 
ment, to  look  on  his  world  at  Wainfield  with  new 
eyes  ;  and  as,  fearful  of  an  unreasoning  nemesis,  he 
followed  orders  and  observed  hours  according  to 
direction,  the  Roxminster  plan,  made  so  cheerfully, 
seemed  to  recede.  All  the  same,  before  the  week  was 
out,  he  had  a  chance  at  least  to  take  in  the  ground. 

The  boys'  tutor,  Mr.  Edwardes,  was  an  able  anti- 
quarian, and  his  favourite  walk  of  historical  research 
was  architecture.  Hal  had  imbibed  a  measure  of 
his  taste,  and  had  been  used,  when  his  health  allowed 
it,  to  explore  with  the  vicar  various  points  of  interest 
in  the  neighbourhood.  Roxminster  Cathedral  was, 
of  course,  the  richest  mine  of  such  instruction  :  and 
having  turned  up  the  subject  on  Saturday  morning  in 
lessons,  Mr.  Edwardes  proposed  to  spend  the  after- 
noon in  a  "  jaunt  "  to  the  town,  combined  with  a 
"  rummage  "  of  that  ancient  edifice.  Hal  knew  it 
slightly,  Antoine  not  at  all ;  so  they  might  both 
improve  their  minds  under  his  guidance  :  his  own 
sons — presumably  already  improved  to  the  extent 
of  their  capacity — came  with  them  for  the  sake  of 
the  jaunt  alone. 

The  plan  happened  to  fall  conveniently,  as  Mrs. 
Edgell  had  an  engagement  of  her  own.  So,  Hal 
being  fairly  well,  and  Mr.  Edwardes  very  nearly  as 
fussy  as  herself,  she  allowed  the  boys  to  go,  though 
overwhelming  Hal  with  wraps  and  instructions. 
Then,  while  Isabel  went  and  paid  duty-calls  for  her, 


HUNTLY  97 

she  spent  a  happy  afternoon  with  her  friend  Lady 
Culver,  returning  before  night  with  a  budget  of 
county  gossip  for  Huntly,  which  she  could  retail  to 
him  while  he  looked  through  the  evening  paper. 
Generally  he  let  her  talk,  and  listened  or  not  as  he 
liked  ;  but  to-night  a  portion  of  her  news  interested 
him  sufficiently  to  distract  him  for  some  time,  both 
from  the  papers  and  the  thought  of  his  dinner, 
delayed  by  the  boys'  late  return  from  town.  The 
mention  of  his  favourite  Dorothy  first  served  to  fix 
his  attention. 

"  Poor  Dorothy,"  Mrs.  Edgell  was  saying. 

"  What's  wrong  ?  "  he  said,  glancing  up. 

"  Everything  :  as  wrong  as  can  be  ;  but  her  mother 
never  would  hear  anything  against  that  man — though 
I  never  called  him  a  gentleman." 

"  Who  has  been  no  gentleman  towards  Dorothy  ?  " 
He  roused  yet  more. 

"  That  horrid  young  Hugueson.  I  believe  all 
those  artist  people  are  disreputable  really." 

"  Don't  bother  to  generalise.  Let's  have  the 
facts." 

Mrs.  Edgell  gave  the  facts  as  she  understood  them 
in  a  low  impressive  voice  ;  exactly  copied  from  the 
tone  Lady  Culver  had  been  using  to  her  that  after- 
noon. She  even  borrowed  some  of  her  ladyship's 
phrases  complete — at  least  Huntly  noticed  that 
they  were  certainly  not  her  own.  Apart  from  the 
effect  lent  by  her  manner,  he  gathered  there  was 
nothing  very  dreadful  to  be  told.  Dorothy's  master 
had  lost  his  temper  during  a  music  lesson,  and  had 
treated  Miss  Culver  as  she  was  not  accustomed  to 
be  treated,  that  was  what  it  came  to.  He  had  been 
surly  where  he  was  usually  impatient :  Dorothy  had 
been  frightened  to  tears  :  and  finally  Lady  Culver 
had  had  an  exhaustive  examination  of  the  maid  who 
had  been  present  at  the  lesson,  and  had  "  learnt 

G 


98  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

things  "  which  decided  her  to  withdraw  her  patron- 
age from  the  Huguesons.  As  to  what  "  things  "  she 
had  learnt,  Mrs.  Edgell  revelled  so  persistently  in 
innuendo  and  suggestion,  that  her  husband  soon 
grew  hopeless  of  gathering  the  evidence,  if  there 
were  any. 

"  You  say  he  drinks,"  he  snapped  her  up  at  one 
point.  "How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"The  maid  was  almost  sure,"  was  the  principal 
part  of  the  reply  to  this.  Huntly  pleased  himself  for 
some  minutes  by  leading  her  into  a  tangle  of  self- 
contradiction  and  self-mystification  :  then  he  re- 
marked, turning  back  to  the  paper  : 

"  I  asked  because  I  happen  to  know  that  he  does." 

"  Huntly  !    How  ?  " 

"  It  came  beneath  my  notice,"  was  all  he  would 
answer.  The  fact  of  his  taciturnity,  however, 
suggested  that  his  public  notice  was  in  question,  and 
she  was  impressed. 

"  Huntly,  how  could  you  not  have  warned  Sybil 
instantly  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  do  so  at  discretion.  Since  she 
has  discovered  reasons  herself  I  shall  leave  it  alone. 
It  is  better  left  alone,  Sylvia,  you  understand." 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  his  wife.  "  You  never  think 
you  can  trust  me  with  a  secret.  I  ought  to  know 
that.  I  suppose  he  has  been  getting  into  some 
scandalous  row  in  the  town . "  She  waited  a  moment ; 
then  as  Huntly  merely  read  the  paper  she  continued  : 
"  Such  a  young  man  too.  It  must  be  in  the  family, 
or  he  would  never  have  collapsed  so  early.  Mr. 
Guthrie  had  a  theory  that  those  cravings  were 
always  inherited,  and  he  had  wide  experience.  I 
should  not  at  all  wonder  if  the  old  man  is  an  in- 
ebriate." 

"  Just  as  likely  he's  an  abstainer,"  growled  Huntly, 
who  suffered  from  her  convictions  on  the  subject. 


HUNTLY  99 

"  The  son  would  have  logically  as  good  a  chance  of 
going  wrong." 

"  Well,  I  prefer  to  find  excuses  for  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Edgell.  "  I  was  always  sorry  for  the  boy,  with  no 
mother  to  look  after  him,  brought  up  anyhow  by 
that  silly  old  crank.  One  might  have  foretold  how 
it  would  end." 

"  Do  you  foretell  the  same  for  Jem's  kid  ?  " 
Huntly  inquired.  "  He  is  in  the  same  situation, 
more  or  less." 

"How  can  you  joke  about  such  things,"  said 
his  wife,  really  indignant.  "  Your  own  brother's 
son." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  being  my  brother's  son,  you 
see,  is  just  what  may  secure  him.  As  a  fact,  I  am 
freer  to  joke  about  him  than  the  other  young  fellow. 
I  am  afraid  it  is  a  bad  case."  He  dropped  his  lazy 
tone  of  raillery  as  he  spoke.  "  Strange  was  speaking 
of  him  the  other  day,  and  it's  clear  he's  going  down 
the  hill.  He  has  a  respect  for  the  family  like  all  the 
precinct  people.  Old  Hugueson  is  an  institution, 
and  in  his  best  days  was  an  institution  to  boast  of. 
He  is  so  still,  only  he  is  breaking  up,  poor  old  boy, 
and  they  say  young  Randall's  responsible.  He  staked 
everything  on  the  lad,  and  now  the  disappointment 
is  killing  him.  That's  how  Strange  puts  it,  and  he 
seldom  speaks  too  strong." 

"  Every  one  knows  what  Canon  Strange  is,  Huntly. 
He  must  take  a  line  different  from  every  one  else  or 
he  would  never  be  happy  a  minute.  He  will  be  an 
old  dotard  himself  one  of  these  days,  so  no  doubt  he 
makes  the  best  of  others .  As  if  he  ought  not  to  be  the 
first  to  clear  a  scandal  out  of  the  precincts  !  Why, 
I  asked  him  straight  out  once  whether  Dr.  Hugueson 
was  not  mad  :  and  he  admitted  it,  and  smiled  !  And 
then  when  I  said  was  it  really  safe  to  have  him  about, 
he  said  personally  he  felt  safest  in  the  cathedral 


ioo  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

with  a  madman  over  head.     He  really  did  say  that, 
for  I  repeated  it  to  Isabel." 

Huntly  replying  merely  with  a  smile,  she  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  And  as  for  gossip,  he  is  a  thorough  old  woman 
about  it.  He  does  not  mind  a  real  scandal,  so  long 
as  he  has  something  to  talk  about."  She  waited. 
"  There's  no  one  else  I  have  talked  to  on  the  subject 
does  not  agree  with  me."  She  waited  again,  but  the 
back  of  Edgell's  newspaper  was  relentlessly  presented 
to  her.  "  And  I  should  have  thought  you  would." 
The  newspaper  lowered. 

"What  am  I  to  agree  with  ?  A  proposition  to  clear 
Strange  out  of  the  cathedral,  or  Hugueson,  or 
both  ?  " 

"  Oh  well,"  said  his  wife,  "  I  know  you  are  friends 

with  Canon  Strange.     He  does  no  harm  particularly." 

"  It's  Hugueson  then  who  is  a  public  nuisance  ?  " 

"  Well,  of  course  you  may  have  your  own  opinion  : 

but  if  I  may  speak  for  myself ': 

"  Pray  do,"  said  Huntly. 

"  I  would  rather  not  meet  him  alone  ;  really,  and 
Sybil  says  the  same.  You  would  not  believe  how 
she  has  tried  to  know  him  :  she  even  asked  me  to 
introduce  her.  '  A  likely  thing,  my  dear,'  I  said, 
'  when  for  all  the  years  I  have  been  in  Roxminster 
society,  in  the  same  room  with  the  man  time  out  of 
mind,  he  passes  me  in  the  streets  without  a  sign  !  " 
Imagine  Sybil,  too,  who  knows  everybody  worth 
knowing,  but  him.  It  is  too  ridiculous.  Are  you 
listening,  Huntly  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  As  well  as  I  can  when  I  am 
slowly  starving.  Lady  Culver  has  tried  for  years  to 
know  a  man  she  is  afraid  to  meet  alone  in  the  streets. 
Of  course,  society  is  a  great  protection.  I  am  sure 
her  point  of  view  and  yours  are  all  they  should 
be."  Huntly  yawned.  "Do  let  us  have  the  food 


HUNTLY  101 

up,    Sylvia.    Those   kids   have   gone   home   with 
Edwardes." 

"  Well,  you  are  precious  late,"  he  exclaimed,  when, 
towards  the  end  of  dinner,  the  boys  finally  appeared. 

"  It's  that  kid's  fault,"  said  Henry,  serenely  nod- 
ding backwards  as  he  entered  the  dining-room.  "  I 
don't  suppose  Edwardes  will  ever  take  him  to  Rox- 
minster  again." 

"  Eh  ?  "  said  his  father.  "  What  has  he  been  up 
to  now  ?  "  While  the  boys  were  with  their  tutor,  he 
had  a  comfortable  feeling  that  whatever  occurred 
was  Edwardes'  responsibility.  Antoine,  strolling  in 
after  Hal,  seemed  as  usual  quite  at  ease  and  very 
hungry. 

"  He  let  poor  old  Teddy  in  for  no  end  of  a  scare," 
Hal  announced.  "  Give  me  my  soup,  mother,  and 
I'll  tell  you  about  it."  Henry  always  immensely 
enjoyed  narrating  to  an  audience.  "Teddy,"  he 
began,  "  got  us  all  safe  into  the  cathedral,  and  an 
odd  lot  of  people  joined  on  to  listen.  Well,  as  soon 
as  he  had — embarked  upon  his — dissertation " 

"  Child,"  his  mother  interposed  irritably.  "  Do 
speak  clearly." 

"  As  soon  as  he  had  started  jawing,"  said  Henry, 
nodding  to  his  cousin,  "  he  cut.  Pretty  cool,  wasn't 
it,  because  I'd  heard  all  that  rot  about  the  nave  and 
the  clerestory  dozens  of  times,  and  so  had  Gordon 
and  Jack." 

"  You  mean  you  left  Mr.  Edwardes  ?  "  Mrs.  Edgell 
exclaimed. 

"  I  did  not  know  he  would  mind,"  said  Antoine. 
"  I  thought  he  was  talking  for  those  other  people. 
And,"  he  added  by  way  of  further  explanation,  "  I 
did  not  like  that  dark  place  where  they  went." 

"  The  crypt,"  said  Hal  with  an  air.  "  He'd  never 
seen  a  crypt  before.  I  suppose  they  don't  have  them 


102  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

in  your  parts,  do  they,  Tony  ?  So  he  went  off,  papa, 
on  his  own  devices  :  and  Teddy  never  missed  him 
for  ever  so  long,  because  he  was  so  wrapped  up  in 
his  beloved  periods,  and  when  he  did,  of  course  he 
thought  he'd  got  lost  down  in  the  crypt,  and  that  his 
bones  were  going  to  crumble  there  mingled  with  the 
dust  of  ages  (feel  like  doing  it,  don't  they,  Tony  ?) — 
well,  anyhow,  so  round  he  went  fussing  like  a  fat  old 
hen,  and  Jack  and  I  after  him.  We  hoped  he'd  swear 
but  he  never  did — not  a  single  damn.  ..." 

"  Henry,"  said  Huntly  solemnly. 

"  Well,  you  say  it,"  said  his  son,  "  when  you're  not 
half  so  riled  as  that.  So  at  last  the  service  began 
and  we  had  to  bundle  out.  Edwardes  spent  some 
more  time  describing  him  to  a  verger,  and  wouldn't 
he  like  to  hear  the  description — oh  my ! ' '  Hal  glanced 
across  again.  "  The  verger  was  paralysed  at  the  idea 
of  anything  like  that  having  got  into  the  cathedral." 

"  Get  on,  Hal,"  said  Isabel,  seeing  her  mother's 
impatience.  Henry's  opinion  of  his  cousin  seemed 
to  have  been  increased  by  the  day's  exploit,  a  fact 
not  likely  to  reduce  her  annoyance. 

"  Well,  so  when  we  had  all  got  well  settled  into 
tea  at  Crompton's,  in  he  walked  as  cool  as  a  cucum- 
ber, and  poor  old  Teddy  simply  fizzling.  I  told  him 
all  along  that  you'd  never  miss  that  tea,"  said  Hal 
to  Tony,  "  but  he  wouldn't  have  faith  in  my  discern- 
ment. As  if  I  didn't  know  you  !  " 

Mrs.  Edgell  could  stand  it  no  longer. 

"  Well,  of  all  the  naughty  proceedings,"  she  cried. 
Hal  ignored  her  completely. 

"  Now,"  he  said  to  his  father,  "I'll  give  you  three 
guesses,  papa,  where  he  had  been." 

"  In  the  organ-gallery,"  said  Huntly,  without 
emotion. 

"  You  are  a  beast,"  said  Hal.  "  What  made  you 
hit  on  that  ?  " 


HUNTLY  103 

"  First  place  I'd  have  gone  to.  Don't  think  much 
of  your  wits,  Hal,  for  all  your  talking.  You  ought 
to  have  given  Edwardes  the  lead,  as  he's  hardly  up 
to  it." 

"  Huntly  !  "  his  wife  cried.  "Do  you  realise  the 
trouble  he  has  given  to  poor  Mr.  Edwardes  ?  " 

"  Quite,"  said  Mr.  Edgell.  "  I  hope  Edwardes 
will  give  it  him  on  Monday."  He  glanced  at  Antoine. 

"  He  won't,"  said  Hal,  who  knew  his  tutor.  "  He 
never  does.  He  won't  even  complain  to  you,  papa," 
he  added,  playing  thoughtfully  with  his  jelly,  "  be- 
cause he  thinks  you  have  confided  our  moral  educa- 
tion to  his  hands." 

"  Shut  it,  Hal,"  said  Kuntiy.  He  smiled  without, 
but  inwardly  he  winced  a  little.  Between  his  slack- 
ness, and  Edwardes'  lack  of  fibre,  there  was  a  long 
chance  of  his  sharp  son's  knowing  too  much. 

"  I  daresay  he  felt  that  he  could  trust  you  to  make 
a  statement,"  he  added  after  a  minute. 

"  Well,"  Hal  defended  himself,  "  the  kid  there 
would  have  told  you  if  I  hadn't.  Wouldn't  you  ? 
Only  his  English  is  so  rotten." 

"  It  was  quite  true,"  said  Antoine,  "  how  you  told. 
And  very  beautiful  words,"  he  added.  He  had  at 
last  satisfied  his  appetite,  and  seemed  to  be  in  good 
spirits  ;  that  hour's  fine  freedom  had  obviously 
stimulated  him.  His  aunt,  desperately  annoyed  by 
her  husband's  attitude,  could  do  nothing  profitable 
while  he  was  there  ;  but  when  Huntly,  who  had  done 
his  dinner,  and  was  apparently  content  with  the 
"  statement  "  supplied,  had  left  the  table,  she  in- 
stantly fell  on  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  playing  such  tricks  ?  " 
He  turned  to  her  surprised.  "  Hiding  like  that." 

"  I  did  not  hide.     I  went  to  see  the  organ." 

"Don't  talk  to  me.  Can't  you  see  it  from  down 
below  ?  " 


104  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Not  see  it  played,"  said  Antoine. 

' '  Oh.     You  mean  to  say  Dr.  Hugueson  was  there  ? " 

"  No,  he  is  away.  A  young  man  play  edit.  I  hear 
him  playing,  and  I  went  up." 

"Expecting  to  find  Dr.  Hugueson,  I  suppose?" 

"  No,"  said  Tony,  patient  with  her.  "  I  knew 
that  was  not  him." 

"  Very  lucky  for  you  it  was  not,"  said  his  aunt. 

"  Luck  ?  "     He  lifted  an  eyebrow. 

"  Yes.  It  would  have  served  you  right  if  you  had 
found  him  and  been  frightened  to  death.  Do  you 
know  what  he's  like  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  him,"  said  Antoine,  looking  at 
her  in  his  annoying  vague  fashion. 

"  You  won't,  in  a  hurry.  He's  a  horrible  old  man, 
and  he's  furious  if  people  go  into  that  gallery  without 
leave.  I  went  once  with  Hal — and  I'll  take  care 
never  to  go  again.  Especially  after  what  I  have 
heard  to-day,"  she  finished. 

Hal  the  ever-ready  glanced  up  sharply.  Isabel, 
who  had  of  course  been  treated  to  the  scandal  in 
full,  spoke  in  haste. 

"  Were  you  up  there,  Tony,  all  the  time  ?  What 
were  you  doing  ?  " 

"  I  saw  that  young  man  who  practised,  and  I  talked 
to  him  ;  and  then  when  he  played  for  the  service,  I 
helped  with  the  stops.  It  was  beautiful,"  Antoine 
pronounced.  "  They  sing  not  so  well  in  France." 

"  So  you  have  been  to  service,  have  you  ?  When 
you  knew  I  meant  to  take  you  to-morrow.  The 
coolness  of  it  !  " 

"  It  was  young  Vidal  playing,  I  suppose,"  said 
Isabel. 

"  Yes,"  said  Antoine,  nodding.  "  That  was  the 
name." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  Mrs.  Edgell  demanded. 

"  When  the  service  was  done  I  went  down  with 


HUNTLY  105 

him  and  outside  his  friend  did  seek  him  and  called 
him  that." 

"  Friend  ?  What  was  he  like  ?  "  asked  his  aunt 
with  sudden  interest. 

"A  tall  man — dark."  Antoine  twisted  up  an 
imaginary  moustache  for  the  tall  man. 

"That's  the  very  man ! "  Mrs.  Edgell  cried  to  Isabel. 

"  It  was  the  son  of  Mr.  Hugueson,"  said  Antoine. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  she  cried  in  exaspera- 
tion. 

"  Because  I  have  seen  him  before." 

"  Before  !     When  ?  " 

"  Before  a  very  long  time  :  when  my  grandfather 
taught  him  in  Paris." 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course.     He  didn't  know  you,  eh  ?  " 

"  Oh  no.  I  was  little — a  kid — when  he  saw  me. 
But  I  remembered  him."  Antoine  made  a  slight  but 
speaking  grimace,  which  his  aunt  did  not  observe. 

"That's  a  comfort,"  she  said.  "It  would  be 
awkward  to  be  in  any  way  mixed  up  with  them." 

"He  teaches  Miss  Culver  the  violin,"  Antoine 
suggested. 

"He  did.  He  is  not  going  to  any  more,  for  good 
reasons." 

"It  is  not  good,  his  teaching  ?  "  said  Antoine  ; 
and  for  once  his  form  of  interrogation  sounded  like 
a  statement. 

"  Nothing  to  do  with  that,"  said  his  aunt  tartly. 
"  You  need  not  ask  me  about  it,  because  I  shall  not 
tell  you.  Everybody  will  know  before  long."  She 
nodded  with  satisfaction  to  herself.  "The  only 
possible  excuse  could  be,  he's  mad  like  his  father. 
I  daresay  it  is  so.  They're  a  horrible  lot." 

"  You  find  ?  "  said  Antoine,  with  a  little  sigh.  He 
very  much  wished  Isabel  would  talk  to  her.  Henry 
fell  on  him  for  the  expression,  and  the  subject  was 
happily  diverted. 


Ill 

IT  was  thus  borne  in  upon  Antoine  that  his  next  visit 
to  Roxminster — a  foregone  conclusion  naturally, 
since  the  first  had  missed  its  mark — would  have  to 
be  made  unknown  to  his  aunt.  This  was  vexatious, 
for  he  infinitely  preferred  to  make  straight  for  what 
he  wanted,  and  not  to  have  to  go  by  roundabout 
routes.  Also,  delay  in  the  attainment  of  the  desired 
object  was  another  thing  against  which  his  nature 
protested,  for  patience  was  a  virtue  Antoine  neither 
possessed  nor  cared  to  cultivate.  Yet  it  seemed  that 
delay  in  this  case  was  forced  upon  him,  and  not 
only  in  consideration  of  his  aunt's  prejudice  against 
the  Huguesons.  He  wished  to  be  quite  sure  that  his 
object  was  there  before  he  tried  at  it  anew.  He  had 
had  some  talk  with  young  Vidal,  whose  practising 
he  had  interrupted  in  the  gallery.  Among  a  good 
deal  of  other  desultory  information,  less  interesting 
to  Antoine,  he  had  mentioned  that  he  was  engaged 
to  play  the  services  for  two  Sundays  ahead,  but  that 
then  he  believed  the  "  old  boy,"  as  he  carelessly 
called  his  superior,  could  be  expected  to  resume  his 
duties. 

He  spoke  of  the  organist  with  the  most  impatient 
contempt,  surprising  to  Antoine  ;  for  M.  Lemaure 
had  never  referred  to  Charles  Hugueson  without 
affection  and  respect,  and  had  borne  all  the  trouble 
Charles'  son  Randall  had  cost  him  with  patience  for 
his  sake. 

Antoine  had  a  good  memory  when  he  set  his  mind 
106 


HUNTLY  107 

to  remembering,  and  he  recalled  now  having  heard 
his  grandfather  and  uncle  speak  often  on  the  subject 
of  this  youth,  who  had  been  one  of  his  own  childish 
aversions  when  he  came  to  Paris  at  eight  years  old  ; 
how  Lucien  Lemaure  had  besought  to  relieve  his 
father  of  the  burden  upon  him,  and  how  steadily 
his  grandfather — usually  so  deferential  to  Lucien's 
demands — had  refused.  And  Antoine  fitted  on  to 
these  the  memory  of  another  evening,  one  of  the 
recollections  he  guarded  closely  within  him,  when 
M.  Lemaure,  after  parting  with  Randall  in  the  hall, 
wishing  him  "  bon  voyage  "  with  the  greatest  mild- 
ness and  solicitude,  had  come  slowly  limping  back 
into  the  study  where  Antoine  was  waiting,  and  lifting 
his  chin  to  look  gravely  into  his  eyes,  had  said  : 
"  And  now  there  will  be  no  more  pupils  for  me  in 
this  life,  but  thou  alone." 

The  next  few  weeks,  as  they  drifted  past  the  boy 
at  Wainfield,  did  not  improve  his  conditions  for  him. 
He  was  at  intervals  very  nervous  and  miserable,  and 
his  aunt  worried  him  perpetually.  For,  as  her  own 
child  was  unusually  well  in  the  warm  spring  weather, 
she  chose  to  -fuss  over  Tony  instead,  with  quite  good 
intentions,  but  conspicuously  bad  results  ;  for  her 
cares  were  wasted  over  little  things,  staying  out  late, 
draughts  and  wet  shoes,  what  he  ate  or  refused  to  eat, 
— things  the  boy  had  never  been  accustomed  to  think 
of  at  all.  Her  continual  dropping  attacked  what  self- 
control  he  had,  and  made  him  more  fantastic  and 
annoying  than  ever  in  Mrs.  Edgell's  eyes.  Antoine 
tried  Henry  for  sympathy  on  the  subject,  but  found 
little  forthcoming,  for  personally  Hal  was  fond  f 
attention. 

"  You  see,"  said  Hal,  "  when  I  get  a  cold  I'm  laid 
up  for  weeks,  and  everybody  is  in  a  way  about  it, 
even  papa.  I  daresay  mother  has  lost  her  sense  of 
what-do-you-call-it — proportion — in  the  matter." 


io8  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Hal  was  a  trifle  abstracted,  because  he  was  engaged 
in  inventing  appropriate  names  for  a  large  menagerie 
of  baleful-looking  monsters,  which  Tony  had  designed 
him  on  slips  of  paper.  The  boy's  gift  for  drawing 
especially  the  grotesque,  had  soon  been  discovered 
by  Hal.  He  produced  each  absurdity,  after  an  inter- 
val of  consideration,  so  swiftly,  that  Hal's  humorous 
invention  was  taxed  to  keep  pace  with  him.  So  he 
was  not  sorry  to  make  him  talk,  for  unlike  his  cousin, 
Antoine  talked  with  so  much  vigour,  that  drawing 
was  impossible  except  in  the  intervals  of  the  dialogue. 

"  Mother  is  so  nervous  about  me,"  said  Hal 
pensively. 

Antoine  sighed.  "  Well,  perhaps  you  cannot  help 
that,  to  be  ill,  when  she  talks  so  much  of  it." 

"  Of  course  I  can't  help  it !  "  cried  Hal.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?  I've  got  hardly  any  constitution, 
mother  says." 

"  Tiens  !  "  said  Tony,  impressed  by  the  word. 
He  was  silent,  devoting  himself  to  design. 

"  Don't  you  generally  stop  indoors  when  you've 
got  a  cold  ?  "  said  Henry,  for  that  was  the  point 
immediately  in  question. 

Antoine  considered.  "  There  was  one  cold  at 
Christmas  I  had,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  Not  the 
sort  with  a  cough,  you  understand.  But  grandpapa 
said  all  the  same  I  should  not  go  inside  the  church 
because  of  some  little  babies  who  might  catch  it." 

Hal  gaped.  "  What  difference  does  having  a 
cough  make  to  going  to  church  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That  sounds  horrid  in  a  high  place,"  said 
Antoine.  He  drew  for  a  few  minutes.  "  Also  I 
might  not  stop  at  home  when  I  had  the  bad  cold," 
he  proceeded,  the  exercise  aiding  reminiscence, 
"  because  my  uncle  said  he  was  going  mad  with  it ; 
and  so  I  should  go  out  in  the  street  and  stay  there 
until  my  cough  was  gone." 


HUNTLY  109 

"  What  extraordinary  people  you  must  belong  to," 
said  Henry,  whose  own  cough,  easily  provoked,  was 
a  weapon  which  he  freely  used  at  need  to  arouse 
attention  and  sympathy.  To  regard  coughing  as  an 
aesthetic  crime  had  never  struck  him  :  nor  would  it 
possibly  have  struck  any  but  a  Lemaure. 

"  I  suppose  you  weren't  ever  really  ill,"  he  consoled 
himself.  The  boy  drew  himself  together  with  a 
shrug,  suggesting  an  uncomfortable  memory. 

"  Once  I  was,"  he  said,  "  for  quite  a  lot  of  nights." 
"  Nights  ?  "  said  Henry.     His  cousin  nodded. 
"  The  dreams  in  my  head  were  dreadful.     I  saw 
them  when  I  was  not  at  all  asleep,  worse  than  this 
animal  I  have  drawn."     He  extended  a  frightful 
creature  seriously.     Henry  considered  it  with  equal 
gravity.     "  That's  the  beastliest  yet,"  he  approved  it. 
"  Well,  go  on  about  being  ill.     Did  you  have  the 
doctor  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Antoine,  pausing.  "  I  do  not  think 
grandpapa  knows  any  doctors  :  except  M.  Savigny, 
and  he  was  always  too  busy  to  come." 

"  Tony  !  "  ejaculated  Hal.  "  What  rot  you  do 
talk.  Is  everybody  mad  where  you  come  from  ? 
what's  a  doctor  for,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Antoine  vaguely,  "  in  Paris  they 
are  different." 

"  How  did  you  get  well,  then  ?  " 
"  Grandpapa  said  that  if  I  did  not,"  said  Antoine, 
"  I  should  go  to  bed  for  a  week — in  the  day  as  well 
as  the  night,  you  understand  :  and  during  that  he 
would  never  speak  to  me.  And  so  I  got  better  very 
soon,"  he  added  dreamily,  for  the  tail  of  a  new  night- 
mare was  occupping  his  mind. 

Henry  gave  him  up,  and  was  pretty  soon  diverted 
to  another  subject. 

"  I  shall  keep  them,"  he  said,  gathering  up  the 
menagerie  of  horrors,  "  to  show  to  papa  when  we  go 


no  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

to  bed.  He'll  appreciate  them  because  he's  got  a 
sense  of  humour.  Mother  hasn't  a  scrap,  more  has 
Bell !  " 

"  Yes,  she  has,"  said  Antoine. 

"No,  she  hasn't,"  said  Hal.  "She  admits  it 
herself,  so  now  then !  I  get  mine  from  papa. 
Canon  Strange  said  that  when  papa  speaks  at  meet- 
ings down  there  in  Roxminster,  his  jokes  are  so  good 
that  no  one  understands  them.  He's  making  up 
some  now  for  to-morrow  night.  That's  what  keeps 
him  so  quiet  in  there."  He  nodded  in  the  direction 
of  the  library. 

"  He  works  to-day,  your  papa,"  said  Antoine. 
He  had  not  seen  much  of  his  uncle  since  the  morn- 
ing, which  surprised  him  a  little,  for  he  had  already 
classified  Huntly  as  a  new  type — the  unoccupied 
man.  Neither  his  father,  grandfather,  nor  uncle 
had  ever  had  the  time  to  spare  at  all  seasons  that  Mrs. 
Edgell's  husband  seemed  to  possess.  The  way  lavish 
households  and  large  gardens  appeared  to  flourish 
over  here,  without  any  effort  spent  but  that  of 
strolling  round  them  and  speaking  occasionally  to 
maids  and  gardeners,  raised  one's  opinion  of  England 
as  a  habitable  country,  compared  with  France  :  for 
those  who  liked  it,  of  course.  Personally  Antoine 
preferred  France  ;  for  the  soft  air,  long  nights,  and 
large  ceremonious  meals,  made  him  constantly 
stupid  at  Wainfield  ;  and  he  found  even  the  single 
hour  of  practice  that  he  had  promised  his  grand- 
father quite  hard  to  attend  to  properly. 

"  Papa  is  going  to  knock  them,"  said  Henry 
proudly,  "  into  fits." 

"  Knock  who — where  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  he's  candidate  for  Roxminster  ? 
Well,  fancy  not  having  found  that  out,  and  you  a 
month  in  the  house.  It's  one  of  their  swell  dinners 
to-morrow  night." 


HUNTLY  in 

"  Uncle  Ted  goes  to  knock  a  swelled  dinner  into 
fits  ?  Is  that  to  be  a  candidate  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,"  said  Henry  gravely.  "  Look 
here,  don't  you  really  know  what  a  candidate 
is?" 

Tony  shook  his  head,  and  immediately  received  a 
lecture  on  politics  and  the  poll  as  understood  in 
England,  in  such  detail  as  was  calculated  completely 
to  bewilder  the  mind  of  the  average  foreigner.  Hal 
waxed  enthusiastic,  and  spared  not  to  use  all  the 
technical  words  he  knew,  so  his  cousin  was  more 
impressed  than  enlightened.  However,  he  asked 
questions,  and  listened  seriously  on  the  whole,  so 
that  the  lecturer  was  content.  And  out  of  the  whole 
rigmarole  he  gathered  one  or  two  useful  facts  :  that 
his  uncle  and  aunt  were  both  going  to  the  speeches 
and  the  dinner  that  preceded  them,  driving  in  early 
in  the  afternoon  and  staying  the  night  with  a  political 
friend  ;  that  Henry  had  besought  in  vain  to  go, 
being  cruelly  refused  owing  to  the  lateness  of  the 
function,  and  that  Isabel  had  promised  instead  to 
take  him  to  a  dramatic  performance  at  the  Cheyn- 
ford  Hospital. 

"  It's  rather  a  bore  you  can't  come,"  said  Hal 
carelessly.  "  But  of  course  mother  won't  let  you  go 
in  the  cart  with  a  cold." 

Antoine  preserved  a  thoughtful  silence  for  some 
time.  Suddenly  he  laughed — his  customary  whole- 
hearted giggle. 

;'  What's  the  joke  ?  "  said  Hal,  turning. 

"  It  is  funny  what  I  was  thinking  of,"  Antoine 
explained. 

"  I  know,"  said  Hal.  "  You've  got  some  sly  plan 
for  to-morrow,  when  we're  all  out." 

"  You  know  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  Hal. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Antoine. 


H2  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

In  the  matter  of  safeguarding  his  own  credit, 
Henry  Edgell's  instinct  was  perfect. 

"  Likely  I'd  tell  you  now,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  sniffed. 
"  I'll  tell  you,  when  you've  done  it,  whether  I'm 
right  or  wrong  " 

"  I  tell  you,  before  I  have  done  it,"  said  Antoine, 
"  that  you  are  wrong." 

The  argument,  conducted  on  these  lines,  occupied 
them  both  till  bed-time. 

The  half-hour  between  breakfast  and  their  de- 
parture to  the  Vicarage  was  a  pleasant  waste  time  to 
the  boys.  Henry  generally  spent  it  with  the  news- 
paper in  his  father's  vacant  chair  ;  Antoine  waited 
for  him  outside,  and  improved  his  English  in  the 
society  of  the  gardener  or  the  groom.  Hackshott, 
the  groom-coachman,  lived  with  his  wife  and  son  in 
the  cottage  beyond  the  stables,  and  Antoine  was  by 
this  time  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  all  three.  The 
boy,  who  had  charge  of  Henry's  pony  and  the  odd 
jobs  of  the  small  estate,  was  the  least  interesting 
member  to  him,  as  conversation  on  Bill's  side  con- 
sisted chiefly  of  a  series  of  stifled  giggles.  But 
Hackshott  and  Mrs.  Hackshott  were  very  much 
better  company,  and  always  pleased  to  see  Tony, 
and  supply  his  mind  with  any  details  of  the 
poultry-yard  and  the  stable  which  he  happened  to 
require. 

On  the  day  in  question,  Mrs.  Edgell  informed 
Antoine  that  he  might  go  over  to  school  at  the 
Vicarage,  if  he  did  not  loiter  about.  Antoine  receive 
her  solicitude  politely,  but  read  her  directions  in  a 
liberal  spirit,  for  he  had  pressing  business  to-day,  as 
it  happened,  in  the  yard.  He  came  upon  Hack- 
shott and  his  son  cleaning  the  carriage-harness  under 
cover,  for  it  was  raining.  Harness-rubbing  is  a 
more  sociable  occupation  than  carriage-cleaning, 


HUNTLY  113 

which  entails  a  constant  hiss  ;  so  Antoine  sat  down 
on  an  inverted  bucket,  and  prepared  to  be  sociable. 

"  You  shall  drive  into  Roxminster  to-day,"  he 
began. 

"  Yessir,"  said  Hackshott. 

"  It  is  the  big  carriage  you  cake  ?  ' 
'  Yessir.     Missus'll  have  it  closed." 

"  If  it  rains."     Antoine  observed  the  sky. 

"  Anyhow,"  said  Hackshott,  "  if  Missus  goes,  I 
shuts  the  carriage,  sure." 

"  And  both  the  windows  too  ?  " 

"  No  sir.  Missus's  glass  up,  and  Master's  down. 
I  ought  to  know  by  this  time." 

"  For  these  swell  dinners,  they  always  drive  ?  " 

"  Yessir.  Trains  run  badly,  you  see,  in  the  after- 
noon. There's  one  at  six,  but  that's  too  late  ;  and 
there's  one  at  two,  but  that's  too  soon." 

"  Because  she  sleeps  then,"  said  Antoine.     Bill 
giggled  and  Hackshott  reproved  him. 
Will  they  come  back  in  the  train  ?  " 

"  Yessir.     To-morrer." 

"  Then  you  come  back  to-night,  Bess  and  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir.  That  blue  Lion  stable's  not 
what  Bess  is  used  to.  I  gives  her  a  good  rest  there, 
and  does  some  odd  jobs  for  master,  and  then  we 
takes  our  way  back  easy." 

"  You  will  see  your  mother  in  Roxminster,"  said 
Antoine  after  a  little  pause.  He  knew  a  good  deal 
more  about  Hackshott's  family  affairs  than  his 
employers  did. 

"  I  'opes  to,"  said  Hackshott  modestly.  "  Master 
said  nothing  about  the  time  we  returned  ;  so  I  'opes 
to  see  mother  if  all  goes  well." 

"  Could  not  one  take  Bill  sometimes  to  see  the 
grandmother  ?  "  Antoine  suggested,  regarding  that 
ruddy  youth. 

"  Last  time,  sir,"  he  growled  sheepishly. 

H 


U4  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Master  let  me  take  'im  along  last  time  as  he  went 
in  'isself."  Hackshott  filled  out  his  son's  statement. 
"  He  rode  on  the  box,  and  come  back  inside.  Not 
forgotten,  that,  eh,  Bill  ?  " 

"Won't  you  take  him  along  to-day?"  said 
Antoine.  "  Oh,  it  rains  now  !  " 

"  And  you  with  a  cold  on  you,  sir,"  said  Hackshott, 
reproachfully.  His  wife,  like  Mrs.  Edgell,  had  had 
her  say  about  Mr.  Tony's  delicate  looks.  "  Bill  he's 
got  his  business  to-day,"  he  added  with  some  pride. 
"  Bill  he'll  comp'ny  Miss  Isabel  down  in  the  cart  to 
Cheynford  'Orspital  Fete.  And  you  just  look  out  for 
that  pony's  knees,  Bill,  my  lad.  If  Mr.  'Enery  drives 
down  the  'ill,  things  may  'appen." 

"  There  he  is  now,"  said  Antoine,  as  Hal  wandered 
out  of  the  garden  gate.  "  Bill,  he  looks  for  you,  I 
think.  See,  give  me  that  to  do." 

As  Bill  hastily  rose  and  went,  Antoine  took  the 
seat  he  had  vacated  close  to  Hackshott. 

"  Don't  you  black  your  'ands,  sir,"  said  the  groom 
with  an  eye  to  his  proceedings  ;  but  Tony  went  the 
right  way  to  work  on  the  plate,  and  he  did  it  quicker 
than  Bill. 

"  You  see,  I  have  to  ask  you  something,"  said 
Antoine  in  confidence. 

"  Anythink  that  I  can  do,  sir,"  said  Hackshott. 

"  You  say  you  do  not  take  Bill  along  to  Rox- 
minster.  No  :  but  you  can  take  me." 

Hackshott  stared.  "  Certainly,  sir.  If  Master 
don't  objeck." 

"  Master  do  objeck,"  said  Antoine.  "  There  is  why 
you  are  to  take  me  up  there  in  the  place  of  Bill." 

Hackshott  dropped  work,  gazed  about  him,  and 
then  suddenly  doubled  up  and  chuckled. 

"  Excoose  me,  but  you  do  take  it,  Mr.  Tony.  For 
ideas  you  do.  You  outside,  and  Master  in — him 
innocent,  if  you  please — all  the  way  to  Roxminster 


HUNTLY  115 

in  the  rain.     If  you're  wanting  a  rummy  idea,  I'll 
ask  you  to  look  at  that." 

"  But  it  goes,  the  idea,"  said  Antoine,  frowning. 
"  If  you  will  not  laugh,  you  will  see  that  it  goes  all 
right." 

"  /  should  go,"  said  Hackshott,  thumping  a  fist  on 
his  knee.     "  That's  what  would  happen,  sir.    The 
idea  on  it." 
There  was  a  pause. 

"Is  it  the  political  meetin'  you're  after  now,  I 
wonder  ?  "  said  Hackshott. 

"  No,"  said  Antoine.  "  I  want  to  visit  a  friend — 
just  like  you  to  see  your  mother." 

"  A  friend,  says  he,"  the  groom  murmured.  "  And 
he  not  my  Bill's  age."  He  stared  out.  "  And  in  the 
rain,  and  all,  enough  to  catch  his  death.  Likely  I'd 
do  it  now,  ain't  it  ?  "  He  put  a  large  hand  over 
Tony's,  which  for  the  moment  was  resting  idle  on 
his  knee. 

"  You  will  not  ?  "  said  the  boy,  with  a  most 
dramatic  drop  in  his  voice. 

"  I'd  risk  my  place  for  you,"  said  the  groom 
weightily.  "  Just  for  having  such  an  idea,  I'd  risk 
my  place  for  you  any  day.  But  I  should  chuck  it 
away,  sir.  I'm  not  sayin'  Mr.  Edgell  don't  let  things 
go  a  bit  ;  but  when  he  hits,  he  hits  hard.  Take 
advice  from  me,  and  go  easy,  or  you'll  find  that  out 
for  yourself."  He  spoke  in  solemn  warning. 
The  boy  heaved  a  sharp  sigh. 
"  I  want  to  go,"  he  said,  lifting  a  piercing  look  to 
the  man's  face.  "  I  think  of  going  out,  away — not  of 
Uncle  Ted.  Sometimes  it  comes  to  me  like  that — I 

cannot  say  it  in  English.     I "  he  flung  a  look  of 

sheer  revolt  about  him — "  I  do  not  like  this  place. 
It  is  not  forme  to  like.     Let  me  come  with  you,  Mr. 
Hackshott — and  after  that  I  shall  be  good  again." 
"  But  you'll  get  cotched,"  said  Hackshott  wavering. 


n6  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

The  appeal  for  freedom  shook  him  vaguely,  the 
appeal  to  his  protection  with  far  more  power.  His 
reason  struggled  feebly  against  a  power  he  had  never 
felt. 

The  boy  shrugged.  "  Perhaps.  I  think  not.  It 
rains  you  see  ;  and  how  shall  he  look  out  ?  Besides, 
if  he  looks,  I  shall  be  Bill :  his  cape — his  umbrella 
if  you  like."  He  laughed  swiftly.  "  I  shall  talk  to  you 
like  him.  Oh,  it  is  easy — for  a  baby  to  do.  I  like 
doing  those  things."  It  was  too  obvious  that  he  did. 

"  And  your  'ealth,  sir,"  said  Hackshott  in  ex- 
tremity. 

Antoine  snapped  his  fingers  lightly  for  all  reply ; 
he  sat  motionless,  his  eyes  devouring  the  spring  rain, 
which  sang  to  him  invitingly.  As  a  fact,  he  wanted 
it  all  over  him  very  badly  ;  he  had  not  got  thoroughly 
wet  once  since  he  came,  which  seemed  rather  a 
waste  of  April  in  the  country  ;  it  might  quite  well 
account,  indeed,  for  his  feeling,  so  parched  and 
irritable  lately. 

Hackshott  looked  upon  him  sadly. 

"  Done,  sir,"  he  said  with  solemnity.  "  It's  against 
my  principles,  as  I  tell  you.  I  never  done  such  a 
thing  in  my  life  before.  But  there  !  there's  no 
arguin'.  I'll  take  my  risks,  if  you'll  take  yours.  I'd 
take  yours  too,  if  I  could,"  he  added  in  soliloquy  ; 
for  Tony,  having  accomplished  his  design/  dropped 
the  harness  clinking  on  the  floor,  clutched  the  hand 
above  his  for  one  swift  second  with  a  strength  sur- 
prising in  his  slight  fingers,  and  was  gone  in  Hal's 
wake  into  the  rain. 

Bill  Hackshott  wondered  all  that  morning  what  he 
had  done  to  make  his  father  so  "  down  on  him." 

At  half-past  three  the  same  afternoon,  Mrs.  Edgell 
her  dressing-case,  her  rugs,  and  her  husband,  were 
all  safely  packed  into  the  carriage.  Hackshott  waited 


HUNTLY  117 

patiently  to  put  up  the  glass,  until  she  had  finished 
her  last  directions  to  Isabel.  Huntly  waited  any- 
thing but  patiently  ;  for  he  was  very  nervous,  and 
furiously  anxious  to  start,  nnd  get  his  trying  affairs 
under  weigh.  Wis  wife  felt  his  state  of  mind,  and 
as  she  was  also  worrying  about  Henry,  became  more 
fretful  in  consequence. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Isabel,  if  he  is  so  set  upon  going, 
you  must  take  a  cab,  that's  all.  It  is  absurd  to  think 
of  the  cart  if  it  pours  like  this.  Take  a  cab  and  have 
your  own  way,  only  if  he  gets  a  bad  throat,  don't 
blame  me.  In  my  opinion,  if  you  took  a  little  trouble 
to  amuse  him  at  home,  and  get  his  mind  off  this 
acting,  it  would  be  far  better  for  all  parties.  Now  is 
that  all  ?  Don't  forget  Hal's  scarf  if  you're  late 
coming  home,  and  ask  the  matron  to — oh  yes,  dear, 
certainly,  not  important  enough  to  matter.  Right, 
Hackshott." 

She  sank  back,  and  the  glass  swung  up,  and  was 
bespattered  with  raindrops  instantly.  There  was  a 
slight  stoppage  at  the  gate  ;  Hackshott  presumably 
led  the  horse  through  and  mounted  again. 

"  Waste  of  time,"  Huntly  growled.  "  Why  can't 
he  drive  through  and  let  the  fools  shut  it  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  particularly  told  him  to  be  care- 
ful of  Bess.  Hackshott  may  be  over-careful,  but  I 
always  say  that  is  a  fault  on  the  right  side.  He  asked 
dear,  if  he  might  rest  her  for  an  hour  or  so  at  the 
hotel  before  he  comes  back,  and  I  thought  it  very 
sensible  of  him." 

"  Very,"  said  Edgell.  "  He  will  be  able  to  tattle 
with  his  relatives  for  the  space  of  that  time,  and 
then  he'll  hurry  off  and  forget  my  proofs.  Hack- 
shott's  an  old  fool,  like  his  horse.  It's  a  confounded 
responsibility  to  be  rearing  fools  on  one's  premises." 

"  If  you  mean  William,"  said  his  wife,  "  William 
is  an  exceedingly  good  boy,  and  I  am  sure  he  can't 


n8  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

help  smiling.  There  was  a  brother  of  Mr.  Guthrie's 
had  a  boy  just  like  that ;  his  face  was  made  so,  I 
suppose,  for  I  remember  talking  to  him  about  his 
poor  uncle's  last  moments,  and  he  was  smiling  all 
the  time  I  talked." 

"  Well,  if  you've  such  experience,  Sylvia,  perhaps 
you  won't  mind  reprimanding  William  next  time  it's 
necessary  For  if  he  is  sent  up  grinning  to  me  again, 
I  shall  undoubtedly  box  his  ears." 

They  went  on  at  a  steady  pace,  the  rain  spattering 
more  and  more  fiercely,  until  they  came  to  the  top  of 
the  Roxminster  hill.  The  carriage  pulled  up  again 
for  a  minute,  and  Huntly,  urged  by  his  wife,  called 
out  of  the  window  to  know  if  all  was  right,  for  the 
roads  were  very  treacherous  with  mud." 

"  Right,  sir,"  Hackshott  answered,  and  they  went 
on  again  almost  immediately  with  sufficient  caution 
to  satisfy  even  his  mistress.  The  house  of  Captain 
Challoner,  president  of  the  local  Conservative  Club, 
who  was  to  entertain  the  prospective  member,  was 
about  halfway  down  the  long  hill.  Hackshott  did 
not  dismount  this  time  to  open  the  gate,  a  passing 
boy  kindly  performing  that  office  for  him.  Huntly 
snipped  a  penny  out  of  the  window  to  the  boy,  before 
they  swung  up  on  to  the  drive.  It  took  as  long  to 
get  Mrs.  Edgell  out  of  the  vehicle  as  it  had  taken 
to  get  her  in  ;  but  she  was  safely  landed  eventually, 
and  Hackshott  could  drive  off.  Old  Bess  was  pro- 
ceeding soberly  on  her  way,  when  Tony  drew  along- 
side, and  held  a  penny  up  in  his  hand  to  Hackshott 
for  inspection. 

"  You're  a  bad  penny  yourself,  you  are,"  said  his 
friend.  "  Are  you  wanting  to  come  up  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  talked  to  you,"  said  Antoine.  He  had 
suffered  a  severe  penance  in  having  to  hold  his 
tongue  for  nearly  an  hour  with  excitement  surging 
in  him  all  the  way.  Having  scrambled  to  Hack- 


HUNTLY  119 

shott's  side  he  discarded  umbrella  and  cape  with 
relief,  put  his  cap  in  his  pocket,  and  sat  bareheaded 
in  the  rain,  which  was  still  gently  falling.  He  chat- 
tered with  his  usual  careless  freedom,  but  he  looked 
rather  serious,  the  groom  noticed,  and  the  cathedral 
spires,  now  in  sight  ahead  of  them,  seemed  to  hold 
his  eyes. 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  service,  sir  ?  "  said  Hackshott, 
for  the  steady  sound  of  the  bell  was  carried  to  them 
through  the  still  wet  air. 

"  There  is  to  be  a  service  ?  "  The  boy  started 
rather,  and  turned  to  look  at  him.  "  But  of 
course,  then,  I  must  go."  He  had  been  thinking 
to  make  for  the  organist's  house  ;  the  idea  of  a 
service  brought  complication  he  had  not  bargained 
for. 

"  Of  course,  is  it  ?  "  said  Hackshott.  "  And  you  in 
the  act  of  misbehavin'."  He  flicked  Bess  gently 
as  he  said  it :  Tony  failed  to  take  the  point. 

"  That  is  good  to  you,  religion  ?  "  he  asked  sud- 
denly after  a  pause. 

"  Natural  it  is,  sir,"  said  Hackshott. 

"  Only  Mr.  Edwardes  is  angry  when  I  talk  of  that," 
Tony  explained. 

"  You  talk  to  him,  do  you  now,"  said  the  groom. 
"  And  it's  like  you,  too,  to  talk  of  such  to  the  Vicar. 
What  religion  was  that  now,  I  wonder,  you  spoke 
on?" 

"  Ours  in  France — what  these  call  Catholic." 

"  To— be  sure,"  nodded  Hackshott. 

"  He  is  curious,  Mr.  Edwardes.  I  will  tell  you. 
See  this  cathedral."  He  flung  his  hand  to  the  high 
towers.  "  That  is  now  an  English  church." 

"  So  I  suppose,  sir."     Hackshott  was  cautious. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but  that  religion  made  it.  When  he 
was  talking  here  the  other  day  he  told  us  that.  And 
he  loves  this — but  he  loves  not  that  religion." 


120  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

The  boy  spoke  keenly  :  and  Hackshott  gave  him 
a  quick  glance. 

"And  a  caution  you  must  be  to  teach,"  he  reflected. 
Then  he  spoke  aloud.  "  You  see,  Mr.  Tony,  Mr. 
Edwardes,  he's  a  churchman.  And  so,  natural,  he 
don't  like  the  mention  of  foreign  churches." 

"  But  why  ?  "  said  Antoine.  "  Religion,  there  is 
what  churchmen  should  talk.  And  yet,  when  I  ask 
him,  he  gets  up  and  he  walks  about  like  a  bear  I  have 
seen  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes." 

"  Perhaps  he  thinks  you're  too  young  to  talk  such 
subjicks,  sir,"  said  Hackshott  sagely,  flicking  Mess's 
flanks  again. 

"  Oh — young  !  "  with  a  whiff  of  disdain.  "  Is  that 
not  to  think,  to  be  young  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Hackshott,  "  he  wouldn't  stop  your 
thinkin'.  But  there's  things  you  talk  of  free,  and 
things  you  don't.  And  even  the  thinkin',  Mr. 
Edwardes  he'd  tell  you  it  should  be  done  at  the 
proper  times." 

Hackshott  had  brought  up  a  boy,  and  spoke  with 
a  certain  authority.  Tony  pondered  the  suggestion. 

"Do  you  think  only  in  the  times  you  want  ?  "  he 
said,  glancing  up  curiously  at  Hackshott's  brown  face. 

"  I  'as  my  work  you  see,  sir,"  said  Hackshott. 
"  It's  only  Sundays  I  'as  much  time  for  thinkin'  ;  and 
even  Sundays,  'orses  must  be  seen  to.  Is  it  'ere  you 
wish  to  be  put  down,  sir  ?  "  he  added,  as  they  drove 
through  the  arch  into  the  cathedral  close. 

"  Yes.  Ah — you  hear  ?  "  He  caught  the  coach- 
man's arm  tightly  as  a  wave  of  muffled  sound  floated 
out  to  them  from  the  interior  of  the  great  church. 

"  They're  playing  the  organ,"  Hackshott  pro- 
nounced. 

"  They  ?  It  is  he.  That  is  all  quite  right  now  for 
me."  He  drew  a  deep  breath.  "  Now,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  I  shall  not  be  afraid." 


HUNTLY  121 

"  What  are  you  thinkin'  for,"  said  Hackshott 
gently,  "  to  be  afraid  of  a  church,  Mr.  Tony  ?  " 

The  boy  said  nothing  for  a  minute,  then  he  spoke 
low. 

"There  is  a  dark  place  with  great  arches,  down 
below  inside.  That  is  not  meant  to  go,  I  believe,  but 
only  for  dead  people.  I  would  not  go  there  when 
they  went.  While  he  plays  I  cannot  think  of  that." 

The  good  groom  was  troubled  by  him.  "  He's  no 
right  to  be  off  on  his  own,"  he  reflected,  "  if  he  must 
go  thinking  all  the  time."  As  Tony  slid  suddenly  to 
the  ground  he  leant  down  to  grasp  his  collar  with  a 
strong  hand. 

"  Hold  up  a  minute,"  he  said  firmly.  "  I  starts 
from  the  Blue  Lion,  through  the  gate  there,  at  seven 
sharp  ;  an'  you  come  along  of  me.  No  runnin'  off 
now  and  forgettin'." 

The  boy  tried  to  pull  away  from  his  hand.  With 
the  sense  of  freedom  tingling  and  dancing  through 
him,  he  winced  from  the  very  name  of  the  numbered 
hours.  It  was  cruel  of  the  man  to  speak  of  time, 
Tony  thought,  when  he  intended  to  be  happy.  His 
restless  look  flashed  across  his  captor's  face,  and 
Hackshott  gripped  him  tighter  still. 

"  For  'alf  of  a  threepenny,"  said  that  worthy  to 
himself,  "  you'd  give  us  the  slip  altogether.  Unbroke 
you  are  and  will  remain  ;  they  never  breaks  the  like 
of  you.  Pull  as  you  wish,  though,  I've  got  you. 
Give  us  your  word,  now,"  he  said  aloud. 

The  boy  was  caught  by  a  sob  of  pure  impatience. 
"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  do.  Let  me  go." 

Hackshott  nodded,  released  him,  and  gathered 
up  the  reins. 


IV 

DR.  HUGUESON  played  long  after  the  service  that 
evening,  and  many  lingered  to  hear  him.  Gratified 
as  a  lazy  provincial  community  always  is  to  get  a 
subject  of  scandal,  the  small  world  of  Roxminster 
had  chattered  and  decried  him,  some  blaming,  some 
feebly  pitying  the  father  as  the  young  man's  reckless 
excesses  became  notorious  ;  yet  none  the  less,  during 
the  few  weeks  that  the  organist  had  been  absent  from 
amongst  them,  the  devotees  of  the  cathedral  had 
missed  a  strong  force  among  its  influences,  to  which 
they  had  grown  accustomed  ;  and  this  night,  the 
first  time  he  had  played  since  his  return,  among  the 
many  hearing  who  were  stirred  and  impressed  there 
were  a  few  who  felt  a  pang  of  remorse  in  having 
treated  him  so  lightly. 

So  long  the  concert  lasted  in  the  darkening  church 
that  one  by  one  these  casual  hearers  wandered  out, 
whispering  to  one  another  with  a  smile  that  the  old 
man  had  forgotten  himself,  or  had  taken  to  practising 
regardless  of  a  possible  audience.  Still  supremely 
indifferent  to  their  coming  or  going  the  shifting 
strains  above  flowed  on,  now  melancholy,  now  tri- 
umphant, now  appealing,  as  though  not  one,  but 
many  spirits  were  at  work  there,  straining  the  re- 
sources of  the  old  organ  to  their  utmost  to  compass 
passions  which  it  barely  recognised  in  its  sedate  life 
from  day  to  day. 

Only  one  auditor  never  moved  throughout,  so 
small  as  to  be  easily  ignored  in  the  great  spaces  of 

122 


HUNTLY  123 

the  church.  He  sat  in  his  corner  as  motionless  as 
the  rapt  stone  figures  about  and  above  him,  his  head 
upon  his  bent  arm.  Antoine  found  his  eyes  super- 
fluous, or  possibly  troublesome,  as  the  shadows  crept 
round  him  in  the  twilight,  for  they  picked  out  dis- 
tracting shapes  which  did  not,  he  knew,  exist.  His 
ears,  on  the  contrary,  were  largely  comforted,  for 
the  hand  on  the  organ  keys  was  masterly,  and  his 
instinct  had  happily  led  him  to  a  corner  where  the 
sound  reached  him  undiverted,  without  the  ghostly 
echoes  which  vexed  him  much  as  did  the  dark  shapes 
of  which  he  preferred  not  to  think. 

Even  when  the  last  crashing  chord  had  faded  out 
he  still  lay  there  for  a  time,  unobservant  of  the  fact 
that  the  cathedral  was  now  emptied  of  its  last  human 
being,  or  of  the  last  but  one  :  for  Antoine  had  turned 
his  head  on  his  arm,  and  his  absent  eyes  were  fastened 
on  the  organ  stairway,  not  far  distant,  which  led  up 
into  darkness.  As  no  master  descended  it,  he  must 
still  of  course  be  lurking  on  high,  among  the  monster 
pipes  which  served  him.  After  an  interval  a  boy  of 
the  choir  came  down  clattering,  whistling  between 
his  teeth,  but  so  intent  on  hurrying  home  that  he 
did  not  look  at  Antoine,  though  he  passed  close  to 
him.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  the  silence  which  shut 
down  on  the  departure  of  this  last  bit  of  cheerful 
common  life,  that  the  clash  of  the  great  doors  closing 
startled  the  boy  completely  awake. 

How  stupid  he  was,  he  thought,  gazing  round 
him  ;  the  time  at  his  disposal  was  slipping  fast  away, 
and  he  had  not  yet  reached  the  central  object  of  his 
expedition.  Getting  hastily  to  his  feet,  he  discovered 
to  his  disgust  that  he  was  stiff  and  cold,  and  that  the 
place  had  all  grown  dark  about  him.  It  was  a  fear- 
fully big  place,  a  cathedral  in  the  dark.  As  he  stood 
alone  in  it  he  felt  its  great  chill  hand  gripping  him. 
Certainly  the  sooner  he  got  close  to  that  man  who 


124  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

made  the  music  the  better  for  himself,  thought 
Antoine. 

So  in  the  watchful  silence  he  found  his  way  to  the 
foot  of  the  gallery  stairs,  where  he  had  once  been 
before,  and  groped  his  way  slowly  up  them.  Then 
he  waited  ;  the  stillness  was  so  mysterious,  so  in- 
credible, that  he  had  no  sense  of  human  neighbour- 
hood. Had  he  dreamt  that  music  lately  ?  The  boy 
leant  for  a  minute  on  the  carved  work  of  the  parapet 
before  he  dared  look  round  the  corner.  Then  a 
faint  gleam  of  candle-light  encouraged  him,  a  sort 
of  golden  bloom  on  the  dark.  He  crept  forward, 
looked,  and  stopped. 

A  little  old  man  sat  crouched  on  the  organ-seat, 
his  head  in  his  hands.  No  face  at  all  was  visible, 
but  it  needed  no  more  than  the  sight  of  the  hands 
to  make  clear  to  Antoine  who  he  was.  He  had  found 
the  spider — the  centre  of  that  web  of  gorgeous  sound 
he  had  lately  heard  :  the  creator,  the  controller  of 
all  that  was  here,  sitting  motionless  as  a  statue  of 
despair  before  the  palace  that  was  his  instrument. 

Five  slow  minutes  passed,  the  organist  showing 
no  sign  of  life  to  encourage  the  boy  who  stood 
watching  him  helplessly,  longing  to  approach  or 
retreat,  but  unable  to  do  either.  Then,  with  a  start, 
Antoine  heard  a  distant  clash  of  keys,  steps  echoing 
below  and  mounting  the  stairs  behind  him  :  the 
heavy  steps  of  a  man.  There  was  no  chance  of  con- 
cealing himself  even  had  he  had  nerve  to  do  so. 
The  boy  set  his  teeth  and  awaited  discovery. 

"  Hullo,"  said  a  man's  rough  voice,  startling  the 
silence.  "  Here,  boy,  what  are  you  waiting  for  ? 
Go  about  your  business,  will  you  ?  " 

A  strong  hand  swung  him  round.  Antoine  shrank 
from  the  touch.  He  knew  the  voice  and  figure  even 
in  the  uncertain  light.  It  was  Randall  Hugueson, 
his  grandfather's  former  pupil,  the  spider's  son. 


HUNTLY  125 

"  Dr.  Hugueson  don't  want  you  any  more.  Should 
think  you  could  see  that,"  the  jarring  voice  went  on. 
"  Here,  father." 

"  I  told  him  to  go."  The  figure  on  the  seat  did 
not  move.  "  I  thought  he  had  gone,  confound  him." 

"  There,"  said  Randall,  with  a  bullying  jerk  to  the 
shoulder  he  held.  "  Now  go  to  the  devil,  will  you, 
and  leave  us  alone."  He  let  go,  and  scarce  looking 
to  see  if  the  order  were  obeyed  he  moved  unsteadily 
towards  the  sunken  figure  at  the  organ. 

"  Come  now.  Do  you  propose  to  stop  here  all 
night  ?  " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  All  the  lot  below  are  cleared  out,"  Randall  pro- 
ceeded, "  if  it's  that  you're  nervous  of  :  no  women 
left  to  catch  you  and  gush.  And  there's  Curtis 
waiting  to  lock  up,  and  Hester  getting  anxious  about 
you." 

A  blank  pause  ;  then  Antoine,  who  had  shrunk 
back  into  the  shadow  of  the  gallery  door,  heard  the 
muffled  voice  again. 

"  Go  away,"  it  said.     No  more. 

"  Father,  do  you  know  me  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  " 
Randall's  bullying  hand  was  on  his  shoulder.  Big 
and  burly  as  he  was,  it  looked  as  though  he  could 
have  broken  the  frail  little  man  at  a  touch. 

"  I  tell  you,  go,"  he  said.  "  What  do  you  want 
of  me  now  ?  " 

"Why  not  a  tender  farewell  ?  "  said  Randall,  with 
a  laugh.  "  I'm  off,  you'll  be  pleased  to  hear.  This 
place  don't  amuse  me  any  longer  :  no  one  can  find 
anything  new  to  say  of  me,  and  money's  scarce  of 
late — you  may  know  why.  Hester  tells  me  you've 
been  spending  a  bit  for  a  change — in  London,  too, 
eh  ?  Pretty  thing  that,  at  your  age." 

The  jest  fell  on  silence.  The  young  man  was 
talking  at  random,  half  unable  to  do  otherwise,  half 


126  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

desirous  to  excite  some  response  ;    but  his  words 
fell  on  ears  dulled  to  jest  or  to  offence  either. 

"  Well,  I'm  off,"  Randall  repeated,  grasping  him. 
"  Do  you  hear  ?  Here's  the  key." 

He  jingled  something  down  on  the  manuals,  then 
seemed  to  be  going.  But  glancing  back  at  the 
bowed  figure,  some  vague  compunction  took  him. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  "  shall  I  send  Hester  with  your 
drops  or  anything  ?  " 

Presumably  there  was  a  sign  of  dissent. 

"  I  say,  Vidal  says  your  business  was  all  right  to- 
night. He  swore  you'd  never  get  through,  but  I 
backed  you,  father.  I  said  if  you  were  set  on  it, 
you'd  do  it  somehow.  You'd  a  pretty  will  of  your 
own  once,  as  I  told  him,  though  I've  got  the  better 
of  it  once  or  twice  of  late  times,  you'll  remember. 
Oh,  I  shut  him  up,  the  little  jackal.  Our — our  family 
differences  are  none  of  his  business,  anyhow."  He 
gathered  himself  into  the  new  mood  of  foolish  dig- 
nity, for  the  words  were  beginning  to  trip  and  run 
together.  But  you  must  take  care  of  yourself,  you 
know.  Go  in  and  let  Hester  see  to  you.  Can't  leave 
you  here  to  the  draughts  and  the  rats.  The  devil !  " 
He  looked  fearfully  round  him,  as  Antoine's  door 
gave  a  slight  creak.  The  instant's  fear  made  him 
furious.  "  Pah,"  he  went  on,  with  sudden  ferocity, 
his  nervous  head  jerking  about  watchfully  so  that 
the  shadows  danced.  "  How  I  hate  it,  this  great 
coffin  of  a  place,  packed  with  dead  men.  And  this" 
He  struck  the  organ's  dumb  keys.  "  Dead  too." 
Death  !  I  tell  you,  it  infects  the  place.  What's  that 
music  you've  wrapped  yourself  in  ?  Dead  men's 
bones — dead — men's — bones.  Music,  preached  at  me 
all  my  life — holy,  rare,  uplifting,  ain't  it  ?  Music's 
made  me — look  at  me  !  Music's  made  you — look  at 
you  !  Pish,  I'm  done  with  it ;  it's  a  sickly  business. 
Music,  as  you  old  ones  understand  it,  is  dead.  As 


HUNTLY  127 

dead  as  this  wheezy  old  engine  of  yours.    As  dead 


as- 


He  drew  up  panting  ;  wiping  his  brow. 

"  As  I,"  said  the  organist,  dropping  the  hands  that 
covered  his  face.  "  You  have  said  it,  boy.  Now  go, 
if  you  understand  the  words  I  say,  and  leave  me  in 
peace  to  meet  it." 

As  though  unable  to  face  the  look  turned  towards 
him,  Randall  swung  about,  and  stumbled  with  a 
muttered  oath  past  the  door  where  Antoine  crouched. 
He  clutched  at  it  with  his  unsteady  hand  as  he  passed 
and  tugged  it  behind  him  as  if  in  fear  of  something 
following.  The  boy,  awake  to  every  sound,  heard 
him  shuffle  blindly  down  the  stair,  and  the  echo  of 
his  departing  steps. 

Even  when  the  clang  of  the  distant  door  announced 
him  gone,  he  was  unable  at  once  to  move,  so  greatly 
was  he  shaken  by  a  passion  he  had  never  felt.  Then 
the  dizziness  of  his  wrath  and  terror  passed,  and 
sliding  from  his  obscurity,  he  went  straight  up  to 
the  old  man,  who  had  resumed  his  hopeless  attitude 
again. 

"  Pardon,"  he  said.     "  Mr.  Hugueson." 

The  old  man  jerked  his  head  round,  blinking. 

"  What  now  ?  "  he  snapped.  "  Is  there  no  peace 
in  this  world,  even  on  the  edge  of  the  next  ?  Is  it 
you,  Blomfield  ?  " 

He  frowned,  dazzled  by  the  light,  and  peered  at 
the  boy. 

"  No,"  said  Antoine.  "  That  boy  went  down  be- 
fore. I  came  up  when  he  went.  I  wanted  to  see 
you,  so  I  waited."  His  voice  died,  quivering  with 
fright. 

"  You  heard  ?  "  asked  the  other  fiercely.  "  Little 
rat,  did  you  hear  him  ?  "  He  gripped  the  boy's  arm. 

"  Oh,  you  hurt  me,"  said  Antoine.  "  Yes,  I  had  to 
hear  him,  I  did  not  want.  Please,  you  hurt  me  so." 


128  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

The  claw-like  grip  slowly  relaxed  at  his  cry  of 
pain. 

"  Why,  it's  a  baby,"  the  organist  muttered. 
"What  is  a  baby  doing  here  ?  Mad  am  I  ?  Is  it 
death  already  ?  " 

He  brushed  the  other  knotted  hand  across  his  brow. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  cried  Antoine.  "  That 
does  not  make  one  dead  to  play."  He  frowned  up, 
trying  to  see  his  face,  with  an  absorbing  eagerness 
to  prove  the  presence  of  the  thing  he  wanted.  The 
old  man  blinked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"  I  played,  did  I,  eh  ?  Then  I  was  alive,  surely. 
Good,  was  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  beautiful,"  said  Antoine  succinctly. 

"  He  said  so,  too,"  Dr.  Hugueson  murmured.  "  I 
daresay  it  was.  Well,  it  was  a  fine  organ,  worthy 
good  playing."  He  gazed  drearily  at  it.  "  He  said 
it  was  dead,  I  think  :  and  music,  and  me." 

"  I  hate  him,"  flashed  Antoine.     "  It  is  not  true." 

"  Indeed  !  And  who  are  you  that  says  so  ?  Do  I 
know  you  ?  Are  you  new  to  the  choir  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  in  the  choir." 

"  Then  you  shall  be,  for  you  have  a  voice  I  take 
to.  Faces  nowadays  I  barely  see  :  but  I  am  used  to 
judging  voices.  What  do  you  sing,  baby  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Eh  ?  What  are  you  here  for  then  ?  "  Again 
the  snarl  and  the  clutch,  without  any  warning. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you,  to — to  talk  to  you."  In- 
stinctively, as  he  spoke,  the  boy  grasped  with  his  free 
left  hand  at  the  cruel  fingers  on  his  arm. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  said  the  organist  instantly. 
"  Strings,  hey  ?  That's  the  fiddle  hand,  if  I  know 
it.  Give  it  here.  No,  you  don't  go  !  I  have  you." 

He  was  as  passive  as  a  fly  in  a  spider's  clutch,  as 
the  long  muscular  arms  closed  about  him,  and  his 
hand  was  seized  and  explored  by  those  claw-like 


HUNTLY  129 

fingers,  that  the  eyes  seemed  hardly  able  to  assist. 
While  he  did  it,  his  captor  went  rambling  on  : 

"  Why  did  you  not  say  you  were  violin  ?  Odd, 
it  suits  the  voice.  I  might  have  guessed.  I  said, 
you  know,  when  he  was  a  boy,  anything  but  the 
violin  :  choose  anything  else.  My  son's  face  you 
may  have — so  far  well  :  but  the  voice  is  wrong.  Yet 
he  took  it,  and  I  was  proud  of  him.  I  tell  you  I  was, 
for  a  while.  It  could  not  last,  of  course.  I  have  not 
forgotten  the  day  I  went  trembling  to  Lemaure. 
'  Will  it  do  ?  '  I  said.  '  It  may,'  he  said  ;  but  I  saw 
in  his  face  it  would  not.  That  good  face  of  his,  the 
soul  of  the  violin.  If  you  knew  it.  ..." 

"  I  do,"  said  Antoine,  on  one  sharp  breath. 

'  You  know  my  friend  Lemaure  ?  ' 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  have  come  from  him.  It — was  so 
hard  to  come.  It  is  hard."  He  threw  his  free  arm 
up  across  his  face. 

"  Boy,  what  are  you  crying  about  ?  Did  I  hurt 
you  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  he  gasped.  **  What  you  say  :  what 
you  are." 

"  Bah,  cry  for  what  I  was.  That  is  all  past.  I 
tell  you,  I  do  not  care  for  that  now.  I  believe — I 
am  almost  happy.  Don't  cry,  baby,  and  tell  me  your 
name." 

"  Edgell.     Antoine  Edgell." 

"  And  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  my  grandfather.  The  father  of  my  mother." 

"  You  are  Henriette  Lemaure's  child  ?  Are  you 
lying  to  me?"  A  pause.  "  No,  it  is  the  little  French 
voice.  I  might  have  known  that  too."  He  breathed 
deeply  for  a  minute  more.  "  And  tell  me,  you  play 
what  ?  The  violin,  and — this  ?  "  He  laid  his  hand 
on  the  manuals. 

"  I  have  tried.     It  is  not  mine." 

"  But  you  love  it  ?  "  he  said  eagerly. 

i 


130  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  After  that,  I  do." 

"  And  you  loved  that  music  I  played  to-night, 
which  he,  that  other,  said  was  dead  ?  Yet  you  are 
a  living  thing — young."  He  felt  him  gropingly. 
"  Younger  and  more  living  than  he.  After  all,  it  is 
not  life  he  leads.  That  existence  is  not  life.  Per- 
haps he  was  wrong.  Do  you  think  so,  baby  ?  "  His 
voice  was  eager. 

''  Of  course,"  said  the  boy  impatiently.  "  Music 
is  not  dead — stupid  !  This  organ  is  not  dead.  If  I 
blow  it  for  you,  you  will  see." 

"  If  you  blow  it — yes,  to  be  sure.  I  am  a  pottering 
old  fool.  Well,  but  there  was  something  else,  eh  ? 
What  else  was  dead  ?  " 

"  You,"  said  Antoine.     "  But  you  are  alive." 

He  looked  upwards  in  the  candle-light.  The  old 
man's  peering,  restless  eyes  met  his,  and,  as  though 
caught  by  something,  he  bent  his  head  close  to  scan 
him.  Then  the  flash  of  interest  in  them  faded. 

"  I  am  dying,  child." 

"  No,"  Antoine  jerked. 

"  Hush  :  I  have  been  in  London  lately." 

"  I  know." 

"  You  do  ?  Do  you  know  why  ?  To  see  a  great 
doctor,  my  last  hope  of  life  :  a  hope  as  thick  as  a 
thread.  Well,  it  is  snapped.  That  is  why  I  played 
myself  out  to-night.  That  is  why  I  stayed  to  say 
farewell."  He  pressed  the  organ's  silent  keys.  "  Do 
you  hear  ?  Grand,  isn't  it  ?  No,  the  breath  is  out  of 
it — out  of  me,  too,  before  many  weeks  have  passed. 
They  won't  be  able  to  blow  life  into  me  again — thank 
God." 

He  chuckled  quietly.  He  was  still  playing  absently 
with  Antoine's  fingers,  and  his  eyes  looked  strained 
and  wild.  The  boy  in  his  grasp  frowned,  puzzled  by 
a  crowd  of  thoughts  new  to  him,  but  no  longer  at  all 
alarmed.  Having  proved  the  thing  he  longed  to  find, 


HUNTLY  131 

he  was  content.  He  was  sitting  now  beside  the  old 
doctor  on  the  seat,  held  so  tightly  that  he  had  no 
choice  but  to  submit  :  so  he  submitted,  leaning  his 
head  back  with  a  confidence  that  was  more  soothing 
than  anything  he  could  have  done.  For  feeling  him 
young  and  dependent,  the  sense  of  protecting  crept 
back  by  slow  degrees  to  the  old  man's  heart,  a  feeling 
he  had  not  known  since  Randall's  innocent  youth ; 
and  with  it  came  quieter  thoughts,  with  more  strength 
and  clearness  of  vision.  When  he  spoke  again  it 
was  in  another  tone. 

"  Where  are  you  stopping,  child  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Out  at  Wainfield — with  my  uncle." 

"  Uncle  ?  Not  a  Lemaure  in  England  ?  Ah,  some 
one  said  Lucien  was  to  be  in  London  soon." 

"  No.  I  go  to  him  next  year.  This  uncle  is  brother 
of  my  father." 

"  Humph  :  Henriette  married — I  remember  the 
talk.  Are  they  kind  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Antoine  on  a  little  pause. 

"  No,"  said  Dr.  Hugueson.  "  How  should  they 
be  ?  There  are  none  in  this  country  who  understand 
us.  Do  you  know  what  they  call  me  here,  baby  ?  " 

Antoine  shook  his  head. 

"  Mad.  They  call  me  mad.  And  Randall,  that  son 
of  mine,  encourages  them — j  oins  them .  Yet  he  comes 
whining  to  the  madman  for  money  when  he  has  been 
living  that  life  of  his  too  fast ;  and  he  gets  it,  too — for 
what  good  is  money  to  a  madman  ?  Better  out  of 
his  hands — so  Randall  thinks.  Look  up  at  me,  boy." 

He  studied  him  again  for  a  minute,  scanning  every 
feature  with  a  sort  of  concentration,  in  the  dense 
silence  which  in  that  great  empty  place  seemed  to 
contend  with  trembling  human  speech. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  said  quietly,  "  that  I  am  mad.  For 
those  of  us  who  are  weak,  the  name  of  madness  is 
enough,  and  we  become  so.  It  is  strength,  great 


132  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

strength,  that  we  need  for  this  life,  remember  that. 
I  declare,  this  once  to  you,  baby,  that  I  have  fought. 
With  my  best  strength,  with  my  music — ours  " — he 
gripped  the  child  he  held — "  I  have  fought  the 
tongues  as  I  could.  But  that  strength  does  not  last. 
Another,  a  deeper  one,  is  needed,  which  I  have  not. 
Boy,  when  you  are  near  like  this,  his  strength  comes 
to  me,  that  you  have  brought  ;  and  I  use  it  to  send 
you  away.  If  my  friend  had  known  all,  he  would 
not  have  sent  you,  for  it  is  no  place  here  for  the 
young — the  young  and  happy."  He  looked  down 
upon  him  again  for  a  silence.  "  I  must  believe  you 
happy,"  he  said,  "for  I  am  not."  After  another 
painful  pause  he  finished  hurriedly.  "Good-night, 
my  love,  and  good-bye.  You  have  done  well  to 
come.  Go  quickly,  for  it  is  hard  to  part  with  you." 

He  bent  his  grey  head  down  to  him  once,  and  then 
with  a  curious  effort  he  threw  his  long  arms  behind 
him  and  clasped  them  so.  Antoine,  after  a  moment 
of  silent  wonder,  clambered  out  of  his  late  prison  by 
the  organ  ;  and  leaving  the  organist  so  sitting,  with 
bent  head  in  the  wavering  candle-light,  he  slipped  to 
the  door,  and  felt  his  way  fearfully  down  the  dark 
stairs. 


ISABEL  came  in  after  nine,  and  coaxed  Hal  by  slow 
degrees  into  bed  :  so  that  it  was  late  before  she 
mounted  the  stairs  to  Antoine's  room.  She  tried  the 
door,  but  to  her  surprise  it  resisted  her. 

"  Are  you  in  bed,  Tony  ?  "  she  asked  softly,  in  case 
he  was  asleep.  She  had  almost  decided  that  he  was, 
when  he  came  quickly  to  the  door  and  opened  it : 
anything  but  asleep  evidently ,*f or  he  was  not  even  un- 
dressed, and  very  different  in  appearance,so  far  as  she 
could  see  in  the  dim  light, from  what  she  had  expected. 

"  Dear,  is  your  cold  worse  ?  "  she  said  hastily, 
entering.  Her  practical  mind  leapt  to  the  most 
probable  explanation  of  his  white  face  and  tearful 
eyes.  Antoine's  cold  choked  him  apparently,  for  he 
mutely  shook  his  head. 

"  Throat,  is  it  ?  "  said  Miss  Guthrie  quickly.  "  Tell 
me  where  it  hurts  you,  my  dear."  She  pulled  him 
kindly  down  beside  her  on  the  bed.  He  struggled 
and  spoke. 

"  I  am  quite  well,"  he  said  unsteadily.  "  I  have  no 
cold  at  all."  But  he  drew  close  to  her  as  he  said  it, 
for  her  appearance  was  solid  and  comforting  :  and 
the  terror  of  the  empty  dark  church,  shorn  of  music, 
and  beauty,  and  friendliness,  as  it  had  been  when  his 
grandfather's  friend  thrust  him  out  into  the  lower 
darkness,  was  still  enclosing  him.  In  this  loneliness 
and  fear,  Isabel  would  be  kind.  She  had  come  of 
her  own  accord  up  all  those  stairs,  as  was  surely 
clear,  to  help  him. 

133 


134  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Nerves,"  said  Miss  Guthrie  to  herself,  greatly 
relieved  that  he  was  not  ill.  She  had  a  vision  of 
Henry's  shocks  of  sudden  illness,  the  burden  of 
which  had  frequently  fallen  on  her  in  her  mother's 
absence.  After  all,  this  boy  was  stronger  than  he 
looked  ;  only  fanciful  and  excitable  as  might  be 
expected  of  his  race.  "  What  did  you  lock  the  door 
for,  goosey  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  do." 

"  But  why  ?  " 

Antoine  looked  at  her  wistfully  through  his  wet 
eyelashes.  After  some  time  patiently  spent,  she 
persuaded  him  to  confess. 

"  Do  you  know  how  that  is,  to  walk  about  when 
you  dream  ?  " 

"  Sleepwalking  ?     Never  !     Do   you  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  I  have  done  that,  yes.    N — not  often." 

Isabel  looked  rather  serious  over  it. 

"  You  will  not  tell  her  ?  "  he  suggested,  holding 
her.  "That  will  not  matter,  if  I  lock  the  door,  and 
put  the  key  away,  will  it  ?  " 

"  You  mustn't,"  said  Isabel  gravely.  "  It  is  useless 
anyhow,  and  it's  not  safe."  She  continued  to  lecture 
him  for  a  little  longer.  "  I  will  not  tell  mother,"  she 
said  finally,  "  but  you  must  give  me  your  key." 

He  got  up,  fetched  it,  and  put  it  into  her  hand 
quite  simply.  The  confidence  touched  her  rather, 
for  she  had  talked  assuming  that  he  would  make  a 
fuss  over  it. 

"  What  have  you  been  crying  about  ?  "  she  asked 
presently,  looking  down  at  him  with  her  serious 
smile. 

He  dropped  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  I  have  not  been 
happy  to-night." 

"  Were  you  lonely  without  us  ?  "  Tony  shook 
his  head,  and  she  smiled  anew.  He  was  a  funny 
little  boy. 


HUNTLY  135 

"  What  did  you  do  with  yourself  this  evening — 
practise  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Antoine.     "  I  did  not  practise  at  all." 

She  tried  a  variety  of  questions,  but  got  no  answers : 
he  only  stared  sadly  at  the  candle,  leaning  against  her. 

"  Is  it  a  secret  ?  "  said  Isabel  at  last,  much  amused 
by  him. 

Antoine  considered  a  minute.  "  Some  of  it  is," 
said  he. 

"  Tell  me  the  part  that  is  not,"  said  Isabel,  deter- 
mined to  be  friendly.  The  more  she  felt  him  elusive 
and  hard  to  approach,  the  more  her  reason  told  her 
to  be  natural  and  homely  with  him. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  ?  "  The  boy  stared  up  at  her  in 
the  half-light,  noticing  how  the  candle  seemed  to 
make  a  pale  crown  of  light  round  her  soft  waved 
hair.  "  I  should  like  to  tell  you  about  him,"  said 
Antoine. 

"  Whom  ?  " 

"  The  person  I  have  gone  to  see — this  afternoon." 

"  You  mysterious  atom,"  Isabel  laughed.  "  Where 
have  you  been — to  elf -land  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Antoine.     "  To  Roxminster." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Isabel.  Humour,  as 
Hal  had  observed,  was  lacking,  to  regard  it  as  a  joke. 
She  was  afraid  he  was  lying. 

"  Inventing  fairy-tales,  aren't  you  ?  "  she  said, 
softening  her  tone  to  be  sympathetic. 

"  No,"  said  Antoine  without  moving.  "  That  is 
true.  There  was  the  time,  you  see,  while  you  were 
all  out  ;  and  so  I  went  and  came." 

"  Tony."  She  dropped  her  hands  off  him.  Then 
swiftly  with  another  idea  she  put  one  on  his  brow. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  are  quite  well,  dear  ?  "  she  said, 
looking  at  him  closely ;  for  he  was  hot  enough  to 
her  touch,  and  she  thought  he  might  be  feverish. 


136  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

He  actually  smiled  in  her  face.  "  Oh,  if  you  so 
wish,  I  will  be  ill  a  little  bit,"  he  said,  with  a  move- 
ment towards  the  hand.  Isabel  had  the  touch  of 
comfort  with  which  some  women  are  born.  The 
small  ministries  were  with  her  more  instinct  than  art, 
though  she  had  practised  them  much  with  Henry. 
That  movement  of  his  to  her  was  so  like  Hal,  so 
babyish  almost,  that  in  spite  of  his  odd  words  and 
his  smile  she  could  hardly  believe  he  was  not  playing 
with  her. 

"  Tony,"  she  said,  "  you  didn't  really  ?  "  He 
nodded.  "  But  how  ?  How  did  you  go  ?  " 

He  touched  his  lip  quickly.  "  The  secret,"  he 
explained.  "  I  went  :  that  is  enough." 

It  was  enough.  Isabel  pushed  him  firmly  from 
her,  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  You  went  out,  when  mother  had  particularly 
told  you  to  stay  indoors,"  she  began. 

"  It  was  so  hot  indoors,"  the  boy  murmured. 

"I'm  serious,  Tony,"  Isabel  approached  him. 
"  You  went  to  Roxminster  on  the  sly,  behind  our 
backs.  Yow?"  Her  kind  grey  eyes  had  altered, 
carried  reproach,  amazement — almost  horror. 

"  Do — you  mind  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mind  ?     I  am  sorry  :  I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

"  Oh  no,  no,"  he  broke  in  quickly.  "  There  is 
not  to  be  ashamed.  You  see  I  had  to  go.  Wait, 
I  will  tell  you  about  that."  She  had  turned  aside 
with  a  gesture,  but  he  sprang  up  and  held  her 
eagerly.  "  There  was  a  man — grandpapa  knew  him 
— so  I  had  to  know  as  well.  It  was  because  your 
mother,  Aunt  Sylvia,  did  not  like  him  that  I  could 
not  talk  of  it,  for  she  would  have  said  not  to  go.  Do 
you  see  ?  I  knew  she  would  say  it.  She  hates  him 
— but  no,  he  is  not  like  that  at  all." 

'\Tony,  stop.  For  goodness'  sake,  who  is  this 
man  ?  " 


HUNTLY  137 

"  Mr.  Hugueson — what  you  call  doctor." 

"  Good  heavens  !  That  old  terror  !  "  She  stared 
at  the  boy.  "  I  suppose  he  frightened  you  to  death. 
Well,  really,  it  serves  you  right." 

"  He  did  not  frighten  me,"  Antoine  cried.  "  He 
is  beautiful,  I  like  him.  He  was  like  grandpapa  to 
me,  do  you  see — so  that  is  why  I  cried.  I  have 
thought  of  grandpapa  all  to-night  since  I  have  come 
home."  His  voice  broke.  "  Only  that  other  man 
with  the  moustache,  and  the  dark  part  of  the  cathe- 
dral, where  I  think  he  did  go  down,  and  because  I 
could  not  find  the  door  at  once  when  I  came  out — 
that  was  all  to  frighten  me.  Isabel  !  " 

Her  own  name  was  in  pure  appeal.  But  Isabel 
was  herself  no  longer  ;  the  light  behind  her  hair  was 
gone,  and  her  voice  had  lost  the  living  thrill  that  had 
first  charmed  him. 

"  Randall's  a  drunkard,"  she  said  briefly.  "  You 
have  been  in  bad  company :  bad,  do  you  under- 
stand ? — in  danger,  for  all  I  know.  Mother  warned 
you  against  the  Huguesons  :  I  heard  her  do  so.  You 
are  not  so  silly  as  not  to  know  what  she  meant. 
You  are  naughty,  Tony — not  silly."  She  paused. 
"  You  have  disobeyed  mother  doubly — trebly,"  she 
reckoned.  "  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  very  naughty 
indeed." 

"  You  will  tell  her  ?  "  inquired  Antoine.  He 
asked  it  more  puzzled  than  perturbed.  Isabel  dimly 
perceived  that  her  statement  of  his  enormities  had 
not  carried  the  weight  she  felt  in  them.  He  was 
sorry  to  shock  her,  plainly,  but  that  was  all.  Was 
disobedience,  she  wondered,  such  a  commonplace  to 
French  children  ?  She  had  heard  that  the  custom 
there  did  not  hold  by  discipline.  But  this  one 
was  so  soft-spoken  that  she  had  quite  thought  he 
was  docile. 

"  You  will  tell  her  ?  "  Tony  asked  again,  drawing 


138  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

his  brows  together.  The  idea  of  his  aunt's  violence 
haunted  him  in  prospect. 

"No,"  Isabel  answered  gravely,  and  after  standing 
a  minute  reflecting,  she  turned  and  left  him. 

She  did  not  even  say  good-night,  a  surprising  thing 
in  her  ;  and  she  had  taken  his  key,  that  little  metal 
talisman,  which  seemed  to  Tony's  fancy  to  secure 
him  from  some  at  least  of  the  terrors  of  the  night. 

"  I  felt  I  ought  to  let  you  know,"  said  Isabel,  her 
clear  eyes  on  her  stepfather. 

Huntly  frowned.  "  Oh  lor',"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  What  a  bother.  I  thought  he  had  taken  to  going 
easy  by  now."  He  tossed  his  paper  aside — in  which 
the  speech  was  well  reported — and  rumpled  up  his 
hair.  He  could  have  wished  his  brain  was  clearer 
after  his  efforts  and  the  enjoyments  of  the  night 
before.  "  How  the  deuce  did  he  get  there  ?  " 

"  He  would  not  tell  me.  I  know  nothing  but  the 
fact,  and  his — his  so-called  reason  for  going." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Huntly.  She  told  him 
shortly. 

"  Good  lord,"  said  Huntly.  "  I  say,  don't  tell 
your  mother." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to,"  said  Isabel.  "  In  fact  I  pro- 
mised Tony  I  would  not." 

"  What  made  him  tell  you  ?  "  said  Huntly  fixing 
his  eyes  upon  her  with  some  curiosity.  His  step- 
daughter interested  him  as  a  character,  when  he 
remembered  to  think  about  her  at  all,  and  was  not 
merely  content  to  rejoice  passively  in  her  existence. 
Her  presence  in  his  household  was  invaluable,  he 
had  long  realised.  She  cheerfully  took  upon  herself 
all  the  awkward  jobs  that  others  avoided,  she  soothed 
the  tempers  that  her  mother  jarred,  she  was  quiet 
and  pleasant  to  look  upon.  She  was,  in  fact,  as 
clearly  created  to  save  bother  as  he  was  to  dislike 


HUNTLY  139 

it,  and  he  greatly  hoped  no  man  would  see  fit  to 
marry  her  for  some  years  to  come. 

"  Oh,"  said  Isabel,  "  I  think  Tony  lets  things  out 
before  he  means  to.  He  was  very  much  worked 
up.  He  is  a  bundle  of  sensations."  Her  eyes  met 
his  straight.  "  I  do  not,"  she  said,  "  enjoy  telling 
tales." 

"  Duty,"  said  Huntly  with  sympathy,  "  is  the  most 
damnably  uncomfortable  thing.  Sorry,  Isabel.  I 
feel  strongly,  you  see,  because  I'm  longing  to  shirk 
mine  at  this  minute.  I  am  so  uncommonly  slack 
to-day.  I  say  !  Does  the  kid  know  I  know  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  tell  him,"  said  Isabel.  "  You  see  I  did 
not  decide  at  once  to  come  to  you." 

"  He  don't  know," .  said  Huntly,  and  nodded. 
"  Good,  I'll  make  him  jump.  Don't  vex  your  soul 
further."  He  eyed  her  quizzically  again.  "  I  take 
the  whole  on  myself.  The  sins  of  my  side  of  the 
family  are  my  business,  as  you  rightly  surmised." 
He  clasped  her  arm  quite  kindly.  "  I  am  naturally 
immensely  obliged  to  you,  Bell,"  he  said.  "  When 
I  think  how  he  might  have  scored — it's  enough  to 
make  any  serious  guardian  shudder." 

Isabel  left  him  with  a  sigh  of  deep  relief.  She  had 
a  shade  of  her  mother's  disquiet  in  dealing  with 
him.  She  felt  strongly  at  times  that  they  did  not 
see  things  in  the  same  light.  However,  she  had 
relieved  her  conscience  of  a  burden,  and  she  went  on 
to  the  next  thing. 

"  Hal  said  you  had  something  for  me,"  said  Tony, 
coming  into  the  study  in  a  hurry. 

"  So  I  have,"  said  Huntly,  who  was  sitting  on  a 
corner  of  his  writing-table. 

Antoine  caught  his  arm.     "  Is  it  a  letter  ?  " 

There  was  a  pause  ;  then  Huntly  dragged  his 
eyes  off  the  white  face  so  near  his. 


140  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  he  said  bluntly.  It  was  odd  how 
fond  the  boy  was  of  Jem.  He  had  noticed  it  more 
than  once,  with  surprise  that  held  a  touch  of  resent- 
ment. He  had  an  absurd  liking  for  old  Jem  himself, 
and  he  had  a  grudge  against  the  "  soulful  "  foreign 
gang  who  had  captured  him. 

"Hands  off,  please,"  he  added.  He  wished  he 
would  learn  how  he  disliked  to  be  touched. 

Antoine's  hand  dropped  off  his  arm,  and  he  fell 
back,  to  his  uncle's  relief. 

"  How's  your  cold  ?"  said  Huntly,  without  looking 
at  him. 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,"  said  Antoine. 

"  Came  suddenly,  too,  didn't  it  ?  "  said  Huntly. 
"  Queer  things,  colds.  Case  of  necessity,  no  doubt." 

The  boy  frowned  at  him. 

"  You  never  had  one  at  all,  had  you  ?  " 

"  Had  a  cold  ?     Oh  yes." 

"  Don't  lie,"  said  Huntly.  There  was  a  blank 
pause. 

"  You  are  angry  ? "  said  Antoine,  quite  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Very.  I  shall  lick  you  in  five  minutes — or  ten — 
or  twenty."  His  eyes  narrowed  up,  and  Antoine 
thought  of  the  black  kitten.  The  black  kitten  had 
been  discovered  watching  a  very  young  mouse,  half- 
crippled  by  its  paw,  with  just  such  a  lazy  and  com- 
placent look.  Antoine  had  killed  the  mouse  and 
buried  it,  and  sent  the  kitten  to  Coventry  ever  since 
for  it's  soul's  good.  He  could  have  found  it  in  his 
heart  to  ask  his  uncle  to  kill  him  now ;  but  he  only 
stared  at  him  consumingly. 

"  Am  I  like  your  father  at  this  minute  ?  "  inquired 
Huntly,  returning  the  stare. 

"  No,  not  at  all.     Do  not  talk  of  him." 

"  Shall,  if  I  like.  Your  father  would  lick  you, 
wouldn't  he  ?  " 


HUNTLY  141 

"  If  he  was  angry,  yes.  But  he  would  tell  me 
why.  And  he  would  not  wait."  A  slight  sob 
caught  his  voice.  "  Papa  never  does  wait,"  he 
said. 

Huntly  drew  in   the   corners   of  his  handsome 
mouth.     He  felt  through  the  words  the  grip  of 
his  brother's  personality,  and  intensely  conscious  of 
himself  as  he  was,  it  stung  him.     He  rose  to  his  feet. 
"  Don't  excite,"  he  said.     "  If  you  really  don't 
know,  I'll  tell  you  why  fast  enough.     And  I  won't 
keep  you  waiting  long.     Only  I  do  want  to  know  a 
thing  or  two  first,  if  you  don't  object. 
"  Yes  ?  "     The  boy  gripped  himself. 
"  I    know   you   were   in    Roxminster   yesterday 
afternoon  ;  never  mind  how.     I   awfully  want   to 
know  how  you  got  there.     It  was  jolly  well  done, 
obviously." 

Antoine  thought  for  a  minute.  "  I  shall  not  tell 
you,"  he  said. 

"  Right,"  said  Huntly.  "  Then  I  shall  have  to 
subpoena  Hackshott." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  Antoine,  dismayed  at  the  awful 
word. 

Huntly  almost  rubbed  his  hands.  It  had  been  a 
shot  completely  in  the  dark,  but  he  was  '  on  it.' 
He  was  grateful  anew  to  Isabel ;  but  for  her,  not 
only  the  boy  would  have  had  the  laugh  of  him  com- 
pletely, but  also  that  deplorable  fool  Hackshott. 
Now,  granted  the  main  disclosure,  it  was  quite 
entertaining  to  penetrate  the  details. 

"You  came  back  in  the  carriage,"  he  said  slowly, 
watching  the  boy's  transparent  face.  "  And  you 
went  down  " — a  pause — "  oh,  surely  you  can't  have 
done.  You  haven't  the  cheek." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  said  Antoine,  who  wanted  him  to 
be  quick.     "  I  went  down  on  the  carriage  too." 
"  Behind,  eh  ?  " 


142  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  In  front,"  said  Antoine. 

"  You're  lying,"  said  his  uncle,  as  it  were  per- 
suasively. "  We  must  have  seen  you." 

The  boy  ran  his  hand  rapidly  into  his  pocket,  and 
extended  a  penny. 

"  You  gave  me  that,"  he  remarked,  "when  I  opened 
the  gate  of  your  friend." 

Huntly  was  staggered  anew.  "  You're  immense, 
Tony,"  he  said.  "  I've  the  greatest  mind  to  let  you 
off." 

He  sat  down  again  on  the  corner  of  the  table. 
Really  he  was  the  most  intolerable  person  Antoine 
had  ever  met. 

"  What  did  you  give  Hackshott  to  do  it  ?  "  he 
asked,  after  an  interval  of  consideration. 

"  Give  him  ?    Nothing."    The  boy's  colour  ran  up. 

"  He  must  have  expected  something,  you  know," 
argued  his  uncle,  lazily  amused  at  his  indignation. 

"  I  do  not  think,"  said  Antoine,  still  flushed,  "  that 
you  know  him." 

"  I  certainly  don't,"  said  Huntly.  "  You're  right. 
I  don't  know  my  own  groom.  Nor  does  my  groom 
know  me  as  well  as  I  should  have  expected." 

"  Yes,  he  did  know  you,"  said  Antoine,  tumbling 
over  his  words  in  his  haste.  "  He  wanted  not  to  do 
that.  I — I  said  it  was  all  right,  that  you  could  not 
know."  He  stopped  and  bit  his  lip. 

Huntly  smiled.  "  Hard  luck,  Tony,"  he  said. 
"  Can't  find  the  hitch  even  now,  can  you  ?  And 
really,  I  don't  wonder.  Well,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing. 
Hackshott  will  know  me  before  night." 

"Oh  no — do  not."  He  approached  again 
palpitating. 

"  Oh  yes,"  nodded  his  uncle.  "  You've  let  him 
in  for  it  this  time."  He  hardly  knew  the  ingenious 
torment  he  wielded,  or  perhaps  he  would  not  have 
pursued  it  as  he  did,  for  some  minutes  longer. 


HUNTLY  143 

Then  something  in  the  boy's  flushed  face  stirred 
even  his  habit  of  faineantise. 

"  You're  a  nuisance,"  he  informed  him  for  the 
last  time,  and  suddenly  rose  from  the  table.  "  Oh 
well,  then,  come  along." 

A  couple  of  days  later  two  letters  reached  M. 
Lemaure's  appartement  above  the  Observatory 
avenue  by  the  same  post. 

"  I  write  to  you  in  French,"  said  Antoine,  "  to  be 
more  quick,  and  because  Hal  will  look  at  it  perhaps. 
I  have  seen  M.  Hugueson,  and  he  is  what  you  said. 
It  was  altogether  beautiful,  how  he  talked  and 
played  and  looked  ;  only  he  looked  close,  not  like 
you,  because  his  eyes  are  blind  like  a  very  old  dog. 
I  am  not  to  go  back  to  him,  because  he  says  he  will 
die  soon.  But  it  is  his  son  that  ought  to  die,  and 
when  I  heard  him  talk  with  that  horrible  voice,  I 
wished  to  kill  him.  You  see  just  now  how  I  am 
wicked  ;  I  am  showing  you  just  how  I  am,  because 
that  is  more  like  talking  to  you. 

"  Hal  is  clever  to  find  out  things,  but  his  Papa  is 
much  more  so.  Of  course  he  was  in  Roxminster 
that  day  to  make  a  speech  as  a  candidate,  and  so, 
perhaps,  he  saw  me.  I  don't  know  at  all  how  much 
he  was  angry,  because  you  cannot  know  at  once  like 
Papa.  Yet  if  he  was  not,  it  was  funny  to  beat  me,  do 
you  not  think  ?  Papa  was  always  quite  angry  to  do 
that.  Uncle  Ted  looked  rather  sorry  to  do  it,  and 
tired,  because  I  think  he  had  made  a  difficult  speech. 
Well,  I  did  not  want  it  !  Tell  me,  do  you  think  I 
should  not  mind  so  much  to  be  hurt  if  I  read  about 
the  Saints  every  day  ? 

"  Here  I  must  not  talk  of  the  Saints,  because  they 
are  only  in  the  names  of  the  Churches.  They  have 
not  even  little  candles  in  the  Cathedral,  though  there 
is  a  lot  of  room.  Without  the  candles  it  is  dark  in 


144  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

the  corners,  and  you  do  not  feel  as  if  there  were 
some  kind  things  there.  I  never  have  been  afraid  in 
ours,  except  once  in  St.  Etienne  that  you  remember. 

"  I  played  those  four  bars  very  well  yesterday, 
and  that  means  in  a  week  it  will  be  all  right.  That 
is  like  when  Papa  runs  along  to  the  end  of  the  part 
he  has  made,  and  then  gets  out  to  make  some  more. 
No,  you  do  not  think  so,  because  you  do  not  love 
properly  those  engines. 

"  It  was  funny  Charles  Hugueson  (sic)  called  me  a 
baby,  too,  like  you.  But  now  I  am  not  that  any 
more,  so  you  shall  call  me  by  my  name.  Do  you 
understand,  because  I  really  wish  it. 

"  Will  you  write  quite  a  little  to  me  soon,  because 
I  can  not  wait.  This  is  not  to  be  rude,  but  just  the 
way  that  writing  has  to  be  absurd  in  what  you  feel." 

Like  many  of  Antoine's  in  his  grandfather's  hands, 
the  document  was  unsigned.  Having  read  it,  M. 
Lemaure  turned  to  the  other,  which  was  signed,  but 
harder  to  read  : 

"  DEAR  LEMAURE, — 

"  He  looked  at  me  with  your  eyes,  and  brought 
me  peace.  But  I  drove  him  from  me,  because  I  am 
entered  upon  the  dark  ways,  and  I  could  not  let  him 
walk  even  one  step  beside  me.  Believe  that  it  was 
hard,  for  he  would  have  done  so.  Just  for  those  few 
minutes  he  was  with  me,  I  felt  that  I  had  a  friend  ; 
I — who  ten  minutes  before  he  came  had  discarded 
all  friendship  in  this  world.  Thus  I  do  not  curse 
the  world  in  leaving  it,  since  to  the  very  end 
miracles  have  not  ceased  to  happen. 

"  My  strength  is  passing  now,  and  I  dare  risk  no 
further  words  ;  but  I  have  enough  left  as  I  write  to 
recall  the  good  things  you  and  I  have  had.  With 
blessing, 

CHARLES  HUGUESON." 


III.  NICK 


THE  Schoolhouse  at  Radfield  held  its  head  very  high, 
and  was  a  rock  upon  which  the  surging  jealousy  of 
the  younger  houses  beat  in  vain.  Worth  mention 
among  those  it  included,  at  the  important  epoch  with 
which  we  must  deal,  were  a  promising  group  of 
juniors,  closely  in  league,  who  gave  themselves  in- 
sufferable airs  on  public  occasions  ;  the  new  head- 
master, an  individual  of  great  personal  vigour  and 
strange  tastes — for  he  seemed  to  like  small  boys  as 
much  as  big  ones,  and  boys  in  other  houses  as  much 
as  those  in  his  own  ;  and  one  or  two  great  men — 
such  as  young  Stagg,  who  had  won  a  sensational 
half-mile  ;  and  old  Gosling,  the  "  heavy-back"  of  the 
First  Fifteen  ;  and  Glenmuir,  who  hit  a  "  river  " 
boundary  twice  running  in  a  home  match  ;  and 
Edgell,  who  spurred  the  shy  Radical  minority,  and 
slew  Erskine  of  Bradlaw's  with  his  own  rhetorical 
weapons  in  open  debate.  Also,  as  if  such  distinctions 
were  not  enough,  the  Schoolhouse  roof  sheltered 
"Nick"  Archerson,  cynic  and  free-lance,  whose 
curious  career,  with  its  most  dramatic  close,  gave 
him  a  permanent  place  in  the  Radfield  annals  long 
after  the  names  of  his  more  conspicuous  contem- 
poraries had  faded  into  the  mists  of  time. 

Not  that  Nick  in  his  day  could  be  called  a  popular 
character,  or  even  a  very  prominent  one.  He  had 
not  the  smallest  ambition  to  be  popular,  at  least.  He 
showed  a  mighty  contempt  for  the  common  tattle  of 
school  affairs,  and  a  seething  hostility  to  sports. 

147 


148  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

He  avoided  the  herd  who  loved  these  things  with 
elaborate  care,  and  asked  no  more  than  to  be  left 
alone.     If  "  fools  "  interfered  with  him,  it  was  their 
look-out,  of  course  ;  and  as  his  class  of  fools  included 
all  his  contemporaries,  most  of  the  Sixth,  his  imme- 
diate superiors,  and  several  of  the  younger  masters, 
such  "  interference  "   more  than  once  resulted  in 
scenes  well  fitted  to  be  coloured  and  circulated  by 
industrious  legend  in  the  school.     Some  of  the  stories 
were  indeed  of  a  breathless  nature,  for  Archerson 
possessed  a  violent  temper,  well  in  control,  and  when 
he  forgot  himself,  always  did  so  most  effectively.  As  to 
the  matter  of  mere  mental  equipment,  popular  rumour 
wasless  interested  in  that  except  in  so  far  as  it  gave  him 
an  opportunity  of  "  scoring  off  "  unwary  masters  in 
school.    ' '  Everybody  knew, ' '  however  (or  else ' '  some- 
body said  "),  that  Alexander  himself  had  a  fair  copy 
of  Nick's  verses  framed  and  glazed  in  his  private  room. 
Deeply  in  love  with  his  own  society  as  Archerson 
always  seemed  to  be,  it  was  quite  in  character  that  the 
only  friendship  that  he  ever  made  was  itself  in  the 
nature  of  a  sensation.     To  take  into  favour  a  junior 
and  a  new  boy  was  unheard  of — consequently,  it 
was  just  the  thing  for  Archerson  to  do.     Nobody 
attempted  to  explain  it,  unless  it  was  Mr.  Price. 

Mr.  Price,  the  organist  and  choir-master,  had  been 
up  to  this  period  the  only  person  with  whom  Nick 
had  come  in  contact  of  his  own  free  will ;  partly 
because  he  had  a  world  beyond  the  school-world 
which  Nick  despised,  partly  because  he  was  a  centre 
of  music,  for  which  thing  Archerson  exhibited  a 
preference.  Price,  a  cheery  little  Welshman,  equably 
kind  to  all,  had  a  way  of  "  jumping  at  affinities,"  as 
he  said,  in  the  herd  of  boys  about  him  ;  and  it  was 
he  who  first  suggested  that  Nick  had  his  eye  on  little 
Edgell,  and  was  shadowing  him  in  the  house  with 
quiet  pertinacity. 


NICK  149 

"  Freak,"  grunted  Mr.  Carmichael,  the  violin- 
master,  who  had  dropped  in  with  his  cigarette  from 
the  adjacent  cottage  on  Sunday  evening. 

"  No,"  said  Price.  "  With  him  it's  set  purpose  to 
do  a  thing  like  that.  I  made  the  kid  play  this  after- 
noon just  for  the  fun  of  it,  and  Archerson  watched 
him  like  a  boa-constrictor  watches  a  lark.  It's  an 
affinity,  I  tell  you." 

"  Hang  your  affinities,"  said  Carmichael.  "  It's 
sheer  freak  in  a  Fifth  Form  boy  to  go  out  of  his  way 
for  a  junior — specially  an  oaf  like  Archerson." 

"  He's  a  clever  oaf,"  said  Price,  "  and  he  knows 
what  he  likes.  And  what's  more,  I'll  back  him  to 
get  what  he  wants.  If  he  wants  that  kid,  freak  or  no, 
he'll  have  him  before  the  week  is  out.  Archerson's 
simply  the  most  masterful  nature  I  ever  met.  He'll 
do  something  remarkable — if  he  lives." 

Carmichael  was  not  interested.  He  thought  Price 
a  chatterer,  but  he  had  to  put  up  with  him  as  his 
nearest  neighbour. 

"You  watch 'em,"  he  yawned,  "  as  Findlay  watches 
tadpoles.  They're  like  the  tadpoles  too,  for  ever 
coupling  and  then  whisking  apart.  You  can't  really 
find  their  habits  interesting." 

"  I  do,"  said  Price.  "  I  like  their  habits  awfully. 
They're  far  funnier  than  tadpoles.  Besides,  there's 
reason  in  it  ;  when  you've  watched  'em  a  bit,  you 
know  just  how  they'll  act.  You  learn  the  impelling 
influence  of  that  particular  specimen — like  Archerson, 
for  instance.  The  new  types  are  exciting  too.  I 
can't  judge  little  Edgell  with  safety  at  present,  but 
I'm  getting  at  him.  I  know  there's  a  consistency 
there." 

"  There's  the  consistency,"  murmured  Carmichael, 
"  of  pure  conceit."  He  curled  his  moustache  in  the 
glass  over  Price's  cottage  mantel  as  he  spoke.  "  He's 
a  little  devil,  if  you  ask  me.  I'm  gettin'  tired  of  him. 


150  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

I've  not  your  patience,  Price,  and  I  can't  sit  down 
and  analyse  their  primal  impulses,  or  whatever  it  is. 
I  know  when  they're  a  bore  and  when  they're  not. 
That's  the  main  distinction." 

"  And  he's  a  bore  ?" 

P>  "  The  deuce."  Mr.  Carmichael  was  intent  on  his 
moustache. 

'*  I  ought  to  have  applied  to  you,"  said  Price.  "  I 
forgot  you  see  more  of  him  than  anybody." 

"  Do  I  ?  He  takes  good  care  I  don't  see  too  much. 
He  can't  be  punctual  if  he  tries,  and  he'll  cut  alto- 
gether as  soon  as  not." 

"  He  is — irregular,"  Price  agreed.  "  But  he's  so 
sweetly  apologetic  when  he  does  come." 

"  I  don't  care  for  manners,"  said^the  other  music- 
master.  "  I  want  deeds." 

"  Don't  he  play  well  enough  ?  " 

After  a  lengthened  pause  Mr.  Price  glanced  up, 
and  met  a  very  gloomy  face.  There  was  resentment 
in  the  tone  too. 

"  He  plays  as  well  as  he  chooses,  of  course.  One 
risks  a  guess  the  kid's  been  used  to  do  as  he  chooses 
in  all  departments." 

"  I  should  guess  in  all  departments  but  that, 
considering  his  stock." 

"  Pooh !  the  Lemaures  know  what  he's  good  for, 
I  bet,  or  they'd  never  have  sent  him  here." 

"  Modesty,"  his  colleague  commented.  But  when 
he  thought  the  interview  over  he  was  not  so  sure. 
However,  he  never  probed  the  "  impelling  influence  " 
of  neighbours  on  the  staff,  or,  if  he  did,  he  never 
divulged  his  discoveries. 

His  prophecies  as  to  the  pair  of  boys,  however, 
came  to  pass  by  the  most  inevitable  and  natural 
means. 

Archerson  was  subject  to  bad  colds,  and  not 


NICK  151 

infrequently  dropped  out  of  school  life  into  the 
secluded  one  of  hospital.  He  neither  asked  nor 
needed  sympathy  in  the  matter ;  for  it  was  one  of 
Nick's  strongest  points  that  he  made  no  fuss  about 
his  own  delicate  health,  and  he  was  actually  never 
so  happy  or  so  pleasant  as  in  the  retirement  of  con- 
valescence with  a  book.  The  hospital  nurse  and 
the  Schoolhouse  matron  were  perhaps  the  only  two 
in  Radfield  who  had  nothing  but  good  to  say  of 
Archerson. 

It  was  under  the  quiet  aegis  of  "  hospital "  that 
Antoine  first  had  speech  with  him,  as  follows. 

Elliott,  a  small  but  self-important  member  of  the 
exclusive  group  of  Schoolhouse  juniors,  had  managed 
to  put  his  knee  out,  and  was  tied  to  bed  for  some 
days  in  the  first  fair  opening  of  the  football  season. 
Being  bored,  Elliott  summoned  his  friends  to  visit 
him  j  and  his  friends  promised  warmly  to  come,  but 
altogether  failed  to  keep  the  promise ;  for  the  weather 
was  fine,  bedside  visits  admittedly  embarrassing,  and 
it  was  generally  more  amusing  out  of  doors.  Elliott 
was  impatiently  expecting  one  afternoon  the  arrival 
of  Otway,  his  chief  companion  in  time  of  health  ; 
and  for  want  of  anything  better  to  pass  the  time,  had 
been  talking  a  little  to  Archerson,  who  was  enjoying 
his  last  day  of  seclusion  on  a  sofa  in  the  furthest 
corner  of  the  room,  and  had  dragged  his  attention 
from  his  book  because  Elliott's  chatter  chanced  to 
deal  with  the  freaks  of  the  new  boys  in  his  form. 
The  severe  nurse  interrupted  them. 

"  There's  a  boy  come  to  say,  Elliott,"  she  an- 
nounced, "  that  Otway  has  something  to  do  this 
afternoon,  and  can't  come." 

"  Otway's  a  beast,"  said  Elliott,  colouring  a  little, 
for  he  was  disappointed.  "  Who's  the  kid  who 
brought  the  message  ?  " 

"  A  new  boy,  I  think,"  said  the  nurse,  who  came 


152  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

little  in  contact  with  the  school,  and  regarded 
"  cases  "  more  than  human  beings.  "  He  speaks 
with  an  accent/'  she  added,  to  help  Elliott's  specula- 
tion. 

Elliott  hesitated,  glancing  dubiously  at  Archerson 
in  the  corner.  The  new  boy  was  an  "  outsider,"  of 
course  ;  still,  he  was  badly  in  need  of  society. 

"  Well,  he's  better  than  nothing,"  he  said  to  the 
nurse.  "  I  might  as  well  have  him  up." 

Archerson  was  reading  again,  but  he  made  no 
objection.  He  lay  like  a  log  with  his  book  all  the 
time  Antoine  talked  to  Elliott ;  but  any  one  observing 
him  could  have  seen  that  his  eyes  were  frequently 
off  the  book. 

Now  Tony's  social  instinct  always  prompted  him 
to  include  everybody ;  and  though  he  chattered  to 
Elliott,  he  did  not  entirely  lose  sight  of  either 
Archerson  or  the  nurse.  His  attempt  on  the  nurse 
was  not  a  success,  though  it  amused  and  almost 
alarmed  Elliott ;  for  it  was  "  the  thing  "  to  be  afraid 
of  her,  and  she  quite  succeeded  in  her  apparent 
object  of  making  illness  a  distasteful  necessity  to 
the  Radfield  boys.  Finding  insufficient  response  in 
that  direction,  Antoine  presently  gave  his  kind  atten- 
tion to  Archerson  ;  and  so  met  Archerson's  deep-set 
eyes  fixed  gloomily  on  himself.  Nick  withdrew  them 
instantly,  but  the  imp  in  Tony  was  aroused. 

•"  Chut,"  he  said  audibly  to  Elliott.  "  One  cannot 
read  with  such  a  noise." 

Elliott  sniggered,  but  winked  at  him  warningly. 
Archerson  was  more  dangerous  game  even  than  the 
nurse,  the  wink  signified. 

'  Play  us  a  tune,  Tony,"  he  said,  as  Antoine  laid 
hands  on  the  violin  he  had  brought  in  with  him. 

The  boy  shook  his  head.     "  I  must  go,"  he  said. 

;'  Do/'  said  Elliott ;   "  Archerson  would  like  it." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Antoine  to  society  at  large,  for 


NICK  153 

Archerson  again  looked  round  at  his  name.  ''You 
see,  there  is  Mr.  Carmichael,  who  waits." 

"  Let  him  wait,"  said  Elliott.  "  He  must  be  used 
to  it." 

"Oh,  yes.     But  he — how  do  you  say? — swears." 

"  Do  stop  a  bit,  Edgell,"  said  Elliott,  who  liked 
his  company  better  than  he  had  expected.  "  Look 

here He  suddenly  dragged  him  down  and 

whispered  privately.  His  confidence  was  amusing, 
for  Antoine  giggled. 

"  If  he  says  anything  himself,"  Elliott  murmured, 
"  it'll  be  one  to  you.  If  he  puts  the  book  down,  it'll 
be  two.  Go  it,  Tony." 

"  But  I  have  no  time,"  said  Antoine,  audaciously 
and  aloud.  "  Besides,  he  reads." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Archerson  gruffly. 

"  I  said  only  to  Elliott — how  do  I  play  some  tunes 
when  you  read  ?  " 

Archerson  grunted.  "  I  can  read  through  most 
things,"  he  said. 

"  That  is  a  nice  book,"  said  Antoine,  feeling  Elliott 
heave  with  appreciation. 

"  It's  about  the  American  War  of  Independence, 
if  you  want  to  know." 

"  What  is  independence  ?  "  asked  Antoine. 

"  You  had  better,"  said  Archerson,  "  read  this  book 
and  see."  After  a  minute  he  added,  as  if  he  could  not 
help  it  :  "  It's  a  jolly  important  thing — and  it  jolly 
well  has  to  be  fought  for,  always." 

Antoine  \vas  interested.  He  forgot  Mr.  Carmichael, 
and  Elliott  as  well ;  pulled  himself  up  from  his  neg- 
ligent position,  and  strolled  across  the  room. 

"  Did  they  get  some  when  they  fought  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. 

•"  How  ignorant  you  are,"  said  Archerson,  keeping 
his  eyes  on  the  book  as  he  approached.  "  Of  course 
they  did.  They're  a  Republic  at  this  moment." 


154  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

M  Oh,"  said  Antoine,  realising  the  thing.  '•'  Yes — 
so  are  we." 

"  We're  not ! "  snapped  Archerson,  moving  his  eyes; 
then — "  Oh,  you  count  yourself  French,  do  you  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  beastly  to  belong  to  two  countries," 
observed  Elliott .  He  was  lost  in  amazement  at  Nick '  s 
condescension.  But  Antoine  suddenly  thought  of  his 
duty,  and  seized  the  violin  with  determination. 

''  Does  Carmichael  really  swear  at  you  ?  "  said 
Archerson,  betraying  that  he  had  listened. 

f  Not  always."    Antoine  paused  thoughtfully. 

• '  I  suppose  you  cheek  him  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  with  surprise.  -•'  I  go  there  to  play  to 
him,  you  see.  It  is  when  I  play  that  he  generally 
swears." 

Archerson  laughed  shortly  and  gazed  at  his  book. 
Antoine  really  longed  to  make  him  put  it  down. 

"  Is  that  funny — independence  ?  "  he  inquired, 
seeing  Nick  still  smile  with  his  eyes  on  the  page ; 
and  he  sat  down  as  he  spoke  on  the  end  of  the  sofa 
in  his  cool,  odd  little  fashion. 

Quite  suddenly,  Archerson  threw  the  book  down 
and  put  his  hands  behind  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  If  you  want  to  know,  I  was 
smiling  at  humbug.  What  you  said  about  Car- 
michael just  now  made  me  think  of  it." 

"  Humbug  ?  "  Antoine  repeated  the  word. 

"  Know  what  it  is  ?  "  said  Nick,  looking  closely  at 
him.  -"  It's  a  thing  I've  studied  a  bit.  A  place  like 
this — "  he  glanced  out  at  the  school  buildings — "  is 
a  ripping  place  to  study  it  in.  If  you  ever  want  to 
know  all  about  it  " — he  dropped  his  voice  rather — 
"  come  to  me." 

Wherewith,  seized  with  shyness,  he  scowled 
violently,  and  took  up  his  Independence  again. 

Tony  was  puzzled  by  him,  but  fascinated  as  well. 
"  The  one  thing  that  makes  life  worth  living,"  Nick 


NICK  155 

asserted,  pursuing  his  subject  when  he  next  had  a 
chance,  "  is  to  watch  the  humbugging  game  that  goes 
on,  all  round,  all  the  time." 

"  Don't  you  like  living  here  ?  "  Tony  asked  him. 
"  Do  I  look  as  if  I  liked  it  ?     Well,  I  only  look 
what  heaps  of  other  chaps  feel :  but  it's  the  thing  to 
say  you  like  it,  and  so  they  pretend.     Lot  of  sheep  !  " 
"  But  you  like — that."     He  made  one  of  his  swift 
gestures  to  the  book  that  was  never  far  from  Archer- 
son. 

"  Work  ?  I'm  like  that  anywhere,"  said  Nick 
curtly.  "  And  get  as  much  chance  at  it  anywhere 
else,  and  more.  Are  you  soft  enough  to  think  you 
come  to  a  place  like  this  to  work  ?  You're  a  kid,  of 
course."  His  eyes  brooded  on  Antoine.  "  Do  you 
like  it  yourself  ?  "  he  demanded  suddenly. 

The  boy  winced  rather.  "  I  shall  perhaps.  Papa 
liked  it — my  father.  And  Phil  likes  it  very  much." 
"  Well,"  said  Nick.  "  I  won't  say  your  father's  a 
fool,  because  I  don't  know  him  :  and  I  won't  say 
Edgell's  a  fool,  because  he's  not.  He's  one  of  the 
few  in  the  Sixth  who's  got  brains — real  brains. 
But  he  doesn't  trouble  to  use  more  than  half  he's 
got.  Oh  yes," — seeing  the  boy's  look — "  I  know 
he's  your  brother  :  but  I  always  say  what  I  think. 
If  you  don't  want  to  hear  what  I  think,"  said  Nick, 
swinging  his  clumsy  arms  behind  him,  "  you'd  better 
keep  out  of  my  way,  that's  all." 

It  sounded  like  a  challenge,  and  a  surly  one. 
None  could  have  guessed  how  the  boy's  heart  was 
beating  as  he  spoke. 

"  Yes,  they  said  that,"  said  Antoine  thoughtfully. 
"  Did  they  ?     What  else  did  they  say  ?  " 
Tony  considered.     "  You  are  ill  very  often,"  he 
suggested. 

"  Well,  that's  true,  as  it  happens.  I  catch  cold  once  a 
fortnight  in  the  winter  terms.     It's  a  beastly  climate." 
"  Why  do  you  come  here  to  school  ? " 


156  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Because  my  mother  lives  not  far  off,"  said  Nick, 
"  and  it's  cheaper."  He  scowled  sidelong  at  the  boy. 
"  We  ain't  got  much  to  live  on,  she  and  I.  Perhaps 
they  told  you  that." 

"  No,  they  did  not,"  said  Tony. 

"You  lie  very  well , ' '  said  Nick .  After  a  considerable 
interval  had  passed,  he  gripped  him  suddenly. 

'  You'll  have  to  get  used  to  me,  you  know,"  he 
said,  rather  thickly.  "  I  can't  help  it.  Edgell — I  say ! 
The  appeal  struggled  out,  while  the  other  boy  stopped 
to  stare  at  him.  "  I — I've  offended  every  one  in  this 
place  worth  knowing,"  Nick  went  on  with  a  violent 
effort,  "  unless  it's  Price.  That's  what  telling  the 
truth  is  worth.  Either  that,  or  else  they  laugh  at  me. 
Not  that  I  care  if  they  do."  He  bit  his  lip.  "  What 
I  want  to  ask  is — you'll  never  do  it  " — in  a  new  spasm 
of  self-torment.  "  Why  should  you  ?  "  A  minute 
passed  while  both  stood  motionless.  "  Well,  look 
here — will  you  play  to  me  now  and  then  ?  I'd — I'd 
do  anything  I  can  for  you  if  you  would." 

That  was  their  acquaintance,  and  from  there  it 
progressed  day  by  day,  the  whole  house  its  amused 
audience. 

"  I  give  you  three  guesses,"  said  Glenmuir  at  tea- 
time  to  Philip,  who  had  been  too  much  wrapped  up 
in  his  various  offices  to  attend  to  the  absurdities  of 
the  juniors  in  the  house. 

"  You'd  better  give  me  thirty,"  he  said.  "  If  I 
gave  you  a  list  of  Tony's  intimate  acquaintances, 
you'd  begin  to  understand  why." 

"  Three,"  said  Glenmuir  with  decision.  "  Go  ahead." 

Philip  guessed  ;  but  though  his  guesses  ranged 
from  the  headmaster's  female  cousin  to  the  ground 
man's  assistant,  he  was  still  able  to  be  startled  by  the 
truth.  He  was  also  a  little  disturbed,  as  his  friend 
soon  discovered. 


NICK  157 

"  Confound  the  young  fools  !  "he  said,  rising  from 
the  table  to  stand  on  the  hearth.  "  Is  it  a  fact,  I 
say — or  just  rotten  gossip"?  " 

"  Price  told  me ;  he's  looked  on  right  through. 
What's  wrong  ?  " 

"I'd  rather  it  was  any  one  else.  I  happen  to  know 
young  Nick  better  than  most.  He  fagged  for  me  last 
year." 

"  Come,  Phil.  There's  no  harm  in  him.  It's  all 
pose." 

"  All  you  know  about  it,"  Philip  grunted.  Glen- 
muir  at  the  table  was  rather  amused  at  him. 

"  Think  he'll  haunt  the  kid  ?  "  he  said,  as  he  scraped 
out  the  butter-dish. 

"Well,"  said  Philip,  "it's  not  hard  to  do  it; 
and  " — he  paused  a  second — "  Tony  doesn't  do  things 
by  halves.  I  happen  to  know  him  too." 

"  I  wish,"  Glenmuir  observed,  "you'd  recognise  the 
acquaintance  more,  Phil.  I  want  to  know  your  kid — 
every  one  says  he's  such  larks.  But  the  more  I'm  in 
your  company,  the  less  I'm  in  his  ;  I've  noticed  that." 
"  He's  got  to  find  his  feet,"  said  Philip,  looking  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Rot,"  said  Glenmuir  frankly.  "  He's  found 
them  long  ago — no  thanks  to  you.  It's  hard  luck  on 
him  to  do  it  alone." 

"No  harder  for  him  than  most  kids  when  they 
come." 

"  Well,"  said  Glenmuir,  "  he  had  reason  to  ex- 
pect  " 

"  No,  he  hadn't,"  Philip  cut  in.  "  I  gave  him 
fair  warning." 

"  Besides,"  Glenmuir  pursued  unheeding,  "  it  is 
harder  for  a  kid  like  that,  and  you  know  it.  Why,  he 
can't  even  talk  the  language  ;  and  it's  rankly  new 
surroundings  to  him — and  you  admit  yourself  he's 
sensitive." 


158  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Not  to  ridicule,"  said  Edgell  with  decision. 

"  To  what,  then  ?     Neglect  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  an  ass,"  said  Philip,  rather  crossly.  But 
Glenmuir  kept  his  pleasant  eyes  upon  him,  tilting 
back  his  chair  :  for  he  had  finished  eating.  They 
were  very  close  fiiends,  and  his  own  temper  was 
naturally  serene  ;  he  could  bear  a  vast  deal  of  verbal 
ill-treatment  without  winking,  for  he  held  proofs  of 
confidence  that  lie  deeper  than  words.  He  gauged 
his  friend's  ill-humour  now  as  anxiety,  and  he  was 
not  far  wrong. 

"  It's  hopeless  to  choose  people's  friends  for  'em, 
anyhow, ' '  he  observed  sagely,  after  a  pause .  ' '  I  don' t 
know  if  there  is  anybody  I'd  back  to  do  it  here, 
unless  it's  Price.  ^  Look  at  Fanshawe  ! — and  yet  he's 
always  trying." 

Mr.  Fanshawe  was  a  red  rag  to  Philip,  and  the 
name  served  its  turn  to  divert  his  thoughts. 

"  Fanshawe's  an  old  granny.  He's  always  want- 
ing to  make  people  '  useful '  to  one  another.  As  if 
you  ever  liked  a  fellow  because  he  was  useful !  " 

"  Especially,"  Glenmuir  appended,  "  on  another 
fellow's  recommendation.  I  say,  I  really  should 
like  to  hear  Fanshawe's  opinion  of  Archerson." 

"  I  should  think,"  Philip  said  lazily,  "  that  he 
prays  at  night  to  be  delivered  from  him.  Nick,  you 
know,  is  not  unlike  Apollyon  at  his  worst." 

"  Philip  !     I  say,  draw  it  mild." 

"  Just  what  I  can't  do,  as  it  happens.  I  can  re- 
member more  than  one  occasion  when  he  frightened 
me." 

"  I  thought  he  used  to  impress  you  rather." 

"  So  he  did,  when  I  could  get  him  to  argue  in  cool 
blood.  He's  a  beastly  clever  kid  on  his  own  lines. 
You  wouldn't  believe,"  said  Edgell,  ".  the  good  things 
I've  heard  him  say.  But  in  a  temper — Lord  pre- 
serve us  ! — and  Antoine  most  of  all." 


II 

ANTOINE'S  form-master,  Mr.  Reeves,  was  a  new- 
comer, young,  earnest  and  untried.  As  such  he  was 
rare  material  for  Mr.  Fanshawe,  the  oldest  member 
of  the  Radfield  staff.  In  long  walks  with  Mr.  Reeves 
on  the  moor,  Mr.  Fanshawe  encouraged,  suggested, 
and  advised ;  and  withal,  laid  before  his  admiring 
eyes  a  finished  picture  of  Radfield,  its  new  head- 
master, its  past  good  days,  and  its  present  more  con- 
spicuous characters.  Thus  Mr.  Reeves  could  chirp 
airily  about  the  masters'  families  and  the  elder  boys, 
before  he  came  into  contact  with  them  in  person ; 
and  had,  in  his  own  form,  preconceived  opinions 
which  successfully  delayed  the  formation  of  any 
opinion  of  his  own.  He  had  a  quite  passionate 
admiration  for  Mr.  Fanshawe,  as  a  man  of  humour, 
penetration  and  experience,  who  had  conquered  by 
his  quiet  worth  the  cranks  and  prejudices  which  had 
led  Mr.  Alexander — for  though  Mr.  Fanshawe  per- 
sistently called  him  the  Doctor,  he  was  a  layman — 
to  an  almost  complete  renewal  of  his  staff  during  his 
first  year  in  the  school. 

Mr.  Reeves  took  his  Second  Form  seriously,  and 
studied  the  individual.  From  the  very  first  the 
younger  Edgell  gave  him  shocks.  He  did  everything 
that  was  impossible  for  boys  to  do,  and  nothing  that 
Mr.  Reeves  expected.  He  generally  answered  out 
of  turn,  and  his  answers,  right  or  wrong,  were  equally 
surprising.  He  seemed  to  think  it  possible  to  con- 
duct a  conversation  with  the  master  from  his  place 

159 


160  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

in  class  when  the  subject  interested  him,  or  even  to 
argue  when  he  failed  to  agree.  When  he  was  not 
interested  he  did  not  attend.  Worst  of  all  he  laughed 
in  the  wrong  places,  and  invariably  made  others 
laugh  when  he  did  so  ;  and,  except  at  a  licensed 
joke  about  once  a  week,  Mr.  Reeves  was  terribly 
afraid  of  mirth  in  form. 

Mr.  Reeves — on  Mr.  Fanshawe's  advice — snubbed 
him  once  or  twice  very  sharply,  and  in  so  doing,  to 
his  horrified  amazement,  nearly  made  him  cry. 
Certainly  he  stopped  his  tongue  for  at  least  an  hour, 
but  the  effect  did  not  last ;  and  Mr.  Reeves  went 
again  in  despair  to  Mr.  Fanshawe,  who  smiled. 

"  Aha,  we  must  make  allowances.  This  is  a  type 
of  boy  you  will  hardly  have  met.  I,  however,  have 
known  some  thousands — some  thousands,  Reeves, 
remember — and  I  have  the  advantage  of  knowing 
the  brother.  I  will  have  a  talk  with  my  lord  to- 
night." 

From  the  talk  of  Mr.  Fanshawe  emerged  rather 
gloomy,  though  he  did  not  disclose  even  to  Mr. 
Reeves  what  passed. 

"  A  funny  little  fellow,  oh  yes — and  a  born  actor. 
He  needs,  I  should  say,  a  firm  hand.  Do  you  know, 
Reeves,  I  often  think  boys  help  one  another  the 
most.  Percy  Garett  is  the  head  of  your  form,  is  he 
not  ?  I  know  his  good  father  well.  I  will  have  a 
word  with  Percy  on  the  subject." 

"  Edgell's  a  problem,  anyhow,  isn't  he  ?  "  said 
little  Mr.  Reeves,  cheering  up. 

Garett,  the  next  person  to  attack  the  "  problem," 
was  kind-hearted,  but  shy.  He  was  the  youngest 
child  and  only  son  of  the  rector  of  the  village  below 
the  school.  Beloved  by  a  doting  mother  and  sisters, 
it  had  needed  something  to  keep  him  simple  and 
unspoiled,  and  that  something  he  possessed.  He 
had  an  excellent  heart,  an  exacting  conscience,  and 


NICK  161 

in  notable  addition  to  these,  a  remarkably  good  brain. 
He  kept  steadily  at  the  head  of  the  form,  and  was  a 
great  favourite  of  unwise  masters ;  but  he  was  not 
disliked,  which  alone  says  much.  Also  he  did  his 
duty  in  the  state  to  which  Providence  had  called 
him,  and  though  hampered  by  extreme  shyness,  his 
good  intentions  were  generally  recognised. 

He  watched  Antoine  nervously  for  some  time 
before  he  found  his  opportunity.  It  came  one  fine 
autumn  half-holiday,  when,  owing  to  Mr.  .Reeves' 
new  regime  of  "  firmness,"  the  new  boy  was  kept 
back  to  re-write  some  lesson  he  had  scamped.  Mr. 
Fanshawe,  on  the  field,  sent  Garett  in  to  fetch  him 
when  the  stated  hour  had  passed,  smiling  benevo- 
lently to  himself  over  the  opportunity  for  ministry 
he  thus  provided. 

Garett  found  him  brooding,  the  tears  on  his  eye- 
lashes. He  seemed  slightly  surprised  at  his  entrance, 
but  not  at  all  ashamed  to  be  caught  crying,  and  ready 
as  ever  to  welcome  society. 

"  Got  stuck  ?  "  Garett  suggested. 

"  No.     I  have  finished." 

"  Why  don't  you  come  out,  then  ?  " 

Antoine  shrugged  without  moving.  Garett  looked 
over  his  shoulder,  and  pointed  silently  to  a  mistake 
in  the  fair  copy. 

"  Literature  has  only  one  '  t ',"  he  solemnly  ob- 
served. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Antoine,  correcting  it  indifferently. 

"  Why  ?  What  a  question  to  ask  !  Because  it 
has,  of  course,  in  English." 

"  In  England,"  said  Antoine,  with  sudden  excite- 
ment, "  everything  is  '  of  course.'  But  I  tell  you — 
to  me  it  is  not." 

"  It's  hard  luck  on  you,"  said  Garett  quietly. 
"  I've  thought  so  several  times.  I  mean,  to  have  the 
language  bother  as  well." 

L 


162  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

The  new  boy  looked  round,  for  the  tone  was  kind. 

"  You  do  not  think  it  funny  ?  "  he  inquired.  "  I 
mean,  that  I  cannot  speak  ?  " 

"  Funny — oh  no,"  said  Garett,  who  was  seldom 
amused  by  anything.  "  I  think  you  pronounce 
awfully  well,  considering  ;  and  you  can  score  off  us 
all  in  French,"  he  added. 

"  Score,"  Antoine  pensively  repeated.  He  always 
liked  a  new  word.  "  See,"  he  added  in  sudden  con- 
fidence, with  a  swift  gesture  to  the  page  before  him, 
"  I  can  say  all  that  to  you,  but  I  cannot  spell  one 
word." 

"  What's  the  good  of  learning  it  by  heart  ?  " 
Garett  protested. 

"  No  good  ;  but  it  is  there.  I  write  it  twice — the 
sound  is  in  my  head  ;  the  stupid  sound  !  "  he  jerked, 
and  dropped  his  chin  on  his  hands  again. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  said  Garett,  "  I  was  going  to 
tell  you  it's  better  not  to  say  things  off  by  heart  in 
class  out  of  the  books.  Mr.  Reeves  doesn't  like  it 
much." 

"  I  know  he  does  not,"  said  Antoine,  with  a  visible 
glint.  "  But  it  is  right  in  the  book  ;  so  he  shall 
have  to  give  me  the  mark." 

Garett  frowned,  bending  to  his  task. 

"  You  see,  it's  like  this.  Kids  who  learn  by  heart 
as  easily  as  you  do  needn't  think  at  all.  Mr.  Reeves 
wants  you  to  think,  that's  all." 

"  That's  all,"  Antoine  echoed.  "  Well  listen,  I  am 
thinking — a  great  deal — all  the  time — sometimes 
about  him."  He  looked  hopelessly  rebellious. 

"  I  know,"  said  Garett,  sitting  down  and  pushing 
his  hands  into  his  pockets.  "  It's  hard  not  to  think 
sometimes  ;  but,  especially  with  a  master,  I  think— 
it's  better — always  to  hold  your  tongue,  in  the  end." 

He  coloured,  for  he  disliked  the  position  of  mentor 
extremely. 


NICK  163 

Antoine  laughed,  inexplicably  as  usual. 

"  In  the  end,"  he  repeated.  "  You  shall  be  in  the 
end  perhaps.  I  am  in  the  beginning  only." 

Garett  was  surprised,  and  endeavoured  not  to  be 
offended.  He  drew  off  a  little. 

"  Pardon,"  said  Antoine,  instantly,  on  the  move- 
ment. "  I  say  everything  wrong  to-day.  You  see, 
I  feel  wrong.  I  am  angry." 

He  covered  his  face  again. 

Garett  looked  at  him.  "  Don't,"  he  said  simply. 
After  a  time  the  little  foreigner  dropped  his  hands. 

*'  That  is  finished  now,"  he  observed.  "  I  go  to 
play  my  violin." 

Garett  thought  he  looked  pale. 

"  You  must  come  out,"  he  said  shortly.  "  It's 
not  a  day  to  fug  indoors.  Besides,  you'll  get  into 
hot  water  if  you  don't  show  up  on  the  field,  because 
Fanshawe's  on  the  watch.  Edgell — I  say,  do  be 
sensible."  He  looked  entreating,  for  Antoine  let  his 
face  express  his  feeling  for  Mr.  Fanshawe.  "  You'll 
be  sent  up  to  Alexander  soon  if  you  go  on  like  this, 
and  that's  no  joke." 

"  I  shall  like,"  said  Antoine,  "  to  go  to  Mr.  Alex- 
ander. It  was  he  said  I  might  practise — because  I 
asked  him  that." 

"  He  didn't  mean  in  the  afternoon." 

"  Yes.  You  see,  I  played  in  this  time  the  other  day. 
And  Mr.  Fanshawe  came  and  said  I  must  go  out. 
And  I  said  I  may  play  for  one  hour  when  there  is 
not  a  match  :  for  that  is  what  Mr.  Alexander  had 
said  when  I  talked  to  him.  And  Mr.  Fanshawe,  he 
did  not  believe  it  ;  so  I  said  I  would  go  then  again 

to  ask " 

"  Ask  Alexander  ?  To  Fanshawe  ?  You  never 
did  !  "  Garett  gasped. 

"  No.  I  did  not  go,  because  he  would  not  let  me 
He  was  very  angry,"  said  Antoine  thoughtfully,  "  and 


164  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

red.  I  do  not  like  him  very  much.  You  do,  I 
think  ?  "  he  added. 

"  Well,"  said  Garett,  blushing,  "  he's  a  friend  of 
my  father's,  you  see.  He  often  comes  down  with 
me  there  on  Sunday.  He's  a  very  decent  sort,  really, 
if  you  get  him  the  right  way." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Antoine.  "  I  will  see  how  you  do 
with  him,  and  I  will  try — perhaps.  To-day  I  have 
not  the  time.  You  will  tell  him  ?  "  he  added  lightly. 

"  I'd  really  rather  not,"  said  Garett,  much  dis- 
turbed. Of  all  indifferent  ways  to  treat  a  master  ! 

"  No  ?     Then  I  will,"  said  Antoine,  "  afterwards." 

And  before  Percy  could  gather  his  forces  anew,  he 
had  risen,  chucked  his  exercise-book  on  to  Mr. 
Reeves'  desk,  and  gone  gaily  about  his  business. 

Garett  had  reason  in  his  wisdom  to  feel  anxious 
about  him  :  and  before  a  week  was  out  events  came 
to  pass  that  ended  in  Edgell  minor's  first  formal 
interview  with  his  headmaster.  Mr.  Alexander  was 
not  without  warning  before  it  arrived  :  for  Mr. 
Fanshawe  in  a  state  of  increasing  indignation  was  not 
one  to  be  silent  on  the  subject  of  outrage  offered. 
The  crisis  arrived  as  follows  : 

Antoine  was  excused  French  lessons,  for  after  the 
first  two  or  three  attempts,  the  farce  was  too  much 
even  for  the  exemplary  Mr.  Reeves  to  bear.  The 
boy  was  naturally  enough  bored  by  hearing  stories 
he  had  known  in  his  babyhood  stammered  through 
at  dreary  length  in  class  ;  and  when  Antoine  was 
bored,  he  had  to  amuse  himself  by  other  means  : 
which  distracted  the  class  and  the  master  alike.  So 
the  powers  decreed  that  he  should  get  through  his 
preparation  in  French  hours,  and  use  the  evening 
time  so  liberated  for  music. 

This  seemed  at  first  sight  an  admirable  arrange- 
ment, but  it  did  not  prove  to  the  advantage  of 


NICK  165 

Antoine's  prepared  work,  as  his  form-master  soon 
discovered.  For,  as  space  was  limited,  he  had  to  do 
his  lessons  in  a  small  out-of-the-way  class-room, 
which  was  used  by  the  staff  for  such  odd  coaching 
as  did  not  fall  immediately  under  the  school  curri- 
culum ;  and  such  incursions  into  his  solitude  were 
apt  to  be  so  enthralling,  especially  when  it  was  the 
elder  boys,  that  very  little  of  Antoine's  valuable 
attention  was  left  for  the  work  he  had  in  hand. 

Such  were  Mr.  Johnstone's  geometry  and  dynamics 
classes,  with  those  clean  and  complicated  diagrams 
in  white  chalk,  that  reminded  him  of  those  demon- 
strated by  his  father  long  since  with  a  stick  on  the 
smooth  Breton  sands.  Mr.  Johnstone,  a  deep-voiced 
giant,  who  had  taken  Tony's  mathematical  measure 
before  this  in  classes  with  the  younger  boys,  would 
frequently  fain  have  handed  him  a  question  which 
failed  on  a  slow  wit  in  the  Fourth.  But  he  did  his 
duty  :  ignored  him  so  far  as  he  could,  and  when  his 
flattering  interest  became  too  patent  to  ignore, 
turned  him  inexorably  back  to  his  business  in  the 
book  before  him. 

All  might  have  gone  well  had  Mr.  Johnstone  been 
invariably  in  charge.  Unfortunately,  one  day  it  was 
Mr.  Fanshawe,  who  brought  the  more  hopeless 
members  of  the  Army  Class  to  the  small  room  to 
read  French  plays,  and  to  demonstrate,  by  the  way, 
his  great  gift  for  improving  the  dullest  material. 

He  was  not,  when  he  first  arrived,  altogether 
pleased  to  see  Antoine  there.  He  had  a  theory  of 
him  now  as  '  sly '  ;  and  he  did  not  find  himself 
quite  able  to  ignore  his  presence  as  Mr.  Johnstone 
did,  though  naturally  too  secure  of  himself  and  his 
teaching  to  suspect  criticism  in  a  junior.  He  taught 
well,  as  a  fact ;  and  what  man  could  do  with  such 
unwilling  and  loutish  subjects,  Mr.  Fanshawe  did. 
His  bracing  pleasantries  rained  about  their  heads, 


166  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

and  Antoine  listened  breathlessly,  quite  forgetting 
his  history.  Mr.  Fanshawe  corrected  their  several 
varieties  of  accent  with  patience,  and  finally  read 
them  a  speech  in  his  finest  manner  as  a  demonstra- 
tion. 

It  was  a  breathing-space  for  the  class,  who  began 
to  look  furtively  about  them.  They  had  already 
snatched  at  the  extra  person's  presence  on  the  scene 
as  a  possible  diversion  from  the  classical  sorrows  of 
Phaedra  ;  now  they  began  to  attend  to  him  more 
than  to  Mr.  Fanshawe,  by  no  means  what  the  master 
had  had  in  view. 

Mr.  Fanshawe,  soon  aware  that  their  attention 
was  divided,  grew  more  irritable  by  degrees.  He 
controlled  himself  well  though  ;  and  since  he  could 
not  send  the  small  boy  out,  he  had  presently  a  bright 
idea. 

"  Edgell,"  he  said.  "  As  you  seem  to  take  such  an 
interest  in  our  proceedings,  and  to  be — ahem — in 
want  of  immediate  occupation,  suppose  you  come 
and  read  to  us  a  little." 

The  measure  served  some  of  its  purpose  at  once. 
The  class  woke  up  and  showed  new  signs  of  life. 
They  were  amused — as  Antoine  was  charmed — at  the 
suggestion.  He  shut  his  history  book  promptly,  and 
wriggled  along  the  bench  to  share  a  ragged  copy  of 
Racine  with  the  nearest  fifth-form  boy. 

For  a  short  time  Mr.  Fanshawe  plumed  himself 
on  this  new  manner  of  killing  two  birds  with  one 
stone.  He  had  at  once  disposed  of  the  disturbing 
element,  and  given  an  object-lesson  to  the  class. 
The  boy's  clean  accent  and  intelligent  emphasis  in 
the  verse  was  a  real  relief  to  the  ear  after  the  slow 
mangling  it  had  had  to  bear  at  the  hands  of  the 
heavy  young  Britons  who  composed  the  class.  The 
boys  naturally  took  the  whole  thing  as  exquisitely 
humorous  ;  and  the  crowning  joke  arrived  when 


NICK  167 

Mr.  Fanshawe  turned  him  on  to  one  of  Bernhardt's 
celebrated  speeches. 

Now,  Antoine  had  heard  this  on  the  stage.  He 
had  grown  excited  by  the  rhythm  as  he  read  ;  and 
almost  in  spite  of  himself  he  gave  the  confession 
the  actress's  trance-like  manner  as  closely  as  he 
could  recollect  it.  It  was  a  clever  bit  of  elocution  ; 
but  the  master,  though  surprised  at  first,  began  to 
get  a  little  restive  before  the  end,  for  the  boys  were 
giggling.  Mr.  Fanshawe  contained  his  rising  dis- 
comfort, and  spoke  sarcastic. 

"  Thank  you,  Edgell.  That  is  very  thrilling,  cer- 
tainly. But  if  I  may  trouble  you,  we  will  have  it 
not  quite  so  quick,  and  a  little  less — ah — theatrical." 

Antoine  lifted  an  inquiring  look  upon  him. 

"  If  I  may  so,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe,  primming  his 
lips — "  a  little  less  French." 

The  boy's  innocent  look  changed  perceptibly. 

"  You  will  have  it  more  English  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Our  emotions,  you  know,  are  less  obvious  to  the 
naked  eye.  Besides,  I  wish  the  class  to  have  time  to 
hear  each  word  distinctly." 

Antoine  took  it  in. 

"  I  shall  read  it  again  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  From  the  beginning,  if  you  please.  '  Oui, 
prince — '  Now,  my  boy." 

The  invitation  so  clearly  conveyed  was  irresistible 
to  one  of  Antoine's  natural  gifts.  He  gave  the  speech 
the  second  time  deliberately  in  the  English  manner, 
no  detail  neglected,  each  word  detached,  with  the 
emphasis  carefully  dropped  as  he  had  observed  that 
great  nation  dropped  it.  At  first  he  found  the  accent 
hard  to  hit  accurately,  and  Mr.  Fanshawe  missed  the 
point,  and  thought  he  was  being  clear  and  careful 
as  directed.  But  as  the  boy's  mischievous  spirit 
took  possession,  the  caricature  became  less  possible 
to  miss.  Antoine  had  listened  to  the  Army  Class 


168  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

French  to  some  purpose  ;  and  during  that  happy 
five  minutes,  if  the  English  boys  had  known,  he 
repaid  them  in  their  own  coin  for  much  of  the 
mockery  from  which  he  himself  had  suffered  since 
he  came  to  school.  Not  that  the  effort  had  a  grain 
of  spite  to  spur  it ;  it  was  just  instinctive  art,  apart 
from  all  motive  beyond  the  one  that  urged  nearly 
everything  that  he  did. 

Unfortunately,  it  was  bound  to  be  misunderstood 
by  its  present  audience.  Mr.  Fanshawe,  hearing  the 
stifled  delight  of  the  boys,  and  seeing  them  glance  at 
him  and  at  one  another,  had  a  sudden  and  awful 
suspicion.  Was  it  possible — could  it  be  conceived — 
that  he,  Mr.  Fanshawe  of  Radfield,  was  being 
mimicked  ?  He  grew  redder  and  redder,  as  the  speech 
proceeded,  and  the  suspicion  took  form.  The  silence 
that  fell  when  it  came  to  an  end  was  terrific  in  import. 

Tony  looked  up,  his  naughty  eyes  dancing.  He 
rather  thought  he  had  done  it  well,  and  he  wanted 
sympathy.  But  he  sought  for  it  in  vain  in  that 
majestic  face. 

"  You  can  go  to  your  seat,  Edgell,"  said  Mr.  Fan- 
shawe coldly.  "  You  will  speak  to  me  in  my  room, 
if  you  please,  when  school  is  over." 

And  shortly  afterwards  the  class  dispersed  whis- 
pering. 

"  His  impertinence,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe  to  the 
headmaster,  "  is  intolerable.  I  seldom  complain,  as 
you  know  :  but  I  feel  I  can  do  no  more  than  I  have 
done  without — ah — overstepping  my  sphere." 

There  was  an  allusion  in  this  that  the  headmaster 
recognised.  Mr.  Fanshawe,  though  he  admitted  the 
excuse  of  a  new  young  staff,  had  never  quite  forgiven 
him  for  arrogating  to  himself  the  use  of  the  rod.  He 
considered  that  in  view  of  his  dignity  and  standing 
in  the  school,  an  exception  should  have  been  made 


NICK  169 

in  his  favour,  if  in  his  favour  alone  ;   and  he  alluded 
to  it  not  infrequently  in  Alexander's  presence. 

"  Let  me  understand,"  said  Alexander.  "  You  can- 
not mean  he  mocked  you  deliberately  in  the  face  of 
the  class." 

"  He  made  it  shamelessly  clear,"  said  Mr. 
Fanshawe,  fuming  anew  at  the  recollection.  "  I 
think  I  can  say  not  one  of  the  boys  missed  his 
intention." 

"  But  that  young  boy — it  is  incredible.  Are  you 
sure,  Fanshawe  ?  " 

"  I  was  not,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe,  clearing  his 
throat,  "  totally  unprepared  for  it,  as  it  happens.  He 
is  a  boy — as  you  must  have  observed — without  a 
grain  of  natural  reverence.  A  slight  veneer  of  man- 
ners, of  course,  to  deceive  the  superficial." 

Fanshawe  paused. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  said  Alexander  slowly, 
"  but  if  it  is  a  personal  matter " 

"  It  is  not"  said  Mr  Fanshawe  within  dignation. 
"  He  upset  the  discipline  of  the  class,  and  made  my 
lesson — ah — valueless.  I  understand  from  Johnstone 
that  he  has  had  to  bear  the  same  when  he  prepares 
in  that  room.  He  is — er — incorrigibly  frivolous,  and, 
I  strongly  suspect,  underhand.  One  cannot  trust  him 
for  a  moment." 

"  I  suppose  you  lectured  him  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  what  I  thought  about  it,  and  what  in 
my  opinion  he  deserved.  He  answered  everything  I 
said,  and  was  as  impudent  as  possible."  Again  Mr. 
Fanshawe  coloured  at  the  recollection.  "  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  come  to  you." 

Alexander  heard  a  little  more,  and  then  determined 
to  interview  Antoine.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  wished 
to  know  exactly  what  had  happened  without  com- 
mentary :  and  took  what  he  regarded  as  the  shortest 
way  of  finding  out.  Antoine  had  impressed  him  in 


170  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

their  first  meeting  as  being  a  variety  of  things,  but 
underhand  was  not  one  of  them. 

He  was  startled  by  the  boy's  appearance  when  he 
came,  for  he  looked  both  ill  and  dispirited  :  altered 
by  degrees  since  he  had  last  noticed  him. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear,"  said  Alexander,  "  that  you 
have  been  rude  to  Mr.  Fanshawe."  Singularly 
enough,  he  ignored  completely  the  other  charges 
presented. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  He  told  you  ?  "  said  Antoine,  glancing  nervously 
about,  as  though  Mr.  Fanshawe  might  be  lurking 
concealed  behind  the  chairs. 

"  He  told  me,  yes.  It  is  rare,"  said  Mr.  Alexander, 
leaning  his  chin  on  his  hand,  "  for  me  to  have  to  talk 
to  a  junior  boy  about  an  offence  like  that."  He  looked 
at  Antoine  thoughtfully.  "It  is  a  disgrace  to  you 
that  I  should  have  to  do  so,  and  an  annoyance  to  me, 
for  I  am  busy  to-night." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Tony  hastily  and  sweetly  ;  he 
advanced  a  step  with  eagerness.  "  See,  that  need 
not  be  very  long — for  there  is  not  much  to  say." 

"  Well  ?  " 

The  boy  hesitated.  "  He  made  a  mistake,  I  think. 
He  was  so  " — he  seemed  to  wince — "  so  very  angry 
that  I  could  not  speak  to  him.  I  am  like  that,  do  you 
see,  still  in  English.  It  is  so — so  stupid.  But  I  will 
think  now  absolutely  how  that  was,  and  go  to  him 
again  in  his  room.  And — and  you  can  go  on  writing." 
With  this  proposition,  Antoine  prepared  hurriedly  to 
withdraw.  But  a  firm  hand  detained  him. 

"  Just  come  here  a  minute.  Steady  on — it's  all 
right.  Are  you  quite  well  ?  " 

''  Yes,  I  think — only  he — he  frightens  me,  you 
know,"  said  Antoine  in  swift  confidence. 

"  Fanshawe  does  ?  But  you  propose  to  go  back 
to  him,  eh  ?  " 


NICK  171 

"  Yes,  I  shall  go."  The  boy's  voice  shook,  but  he 
looked  obstinate. 

"  Isn't  it  easier  to  tell  me  ?  Then  I  can  hand  it  on 
— in  good  English,  don't  you  know.  Fanshawe  will 
have  more  chance  to  understand." 

"  You  have  the  time  ?  "  said  Antoine,  relieved. 
"  Oh — if  you  do  not  mind.  Because  I  can  talk  to 
you." 

"  I  discovered  that,"  said  Alexander  with  a  smile, 
still  holding  him  steadily.  "Just  the  truth,  now, 
because  my  time  is  limited  to-night." 

Antoine  nodded  comprehension,  and  considered  a 
short  moment  before  he  began. 

"  They  were  reading  '  Phedre '  all  together  with  Mr. 
Fanshawe,  and  he  read  a  long  bit  to  show  them  how  : 
and  when  they  tried  to  say  it  they  were  so  funny. 
Because  Mcllwaine  was  so  funny  to  hear,  I  listened 
instead  of  to  do  my  history.  And  Mr.  Fanshawe  told 
me  to  read,  too,  with  them.  And  that  beautiful 
part  came  with  Hippolyte — you  know  how  Sara 
does  it  ?  '  Mais  fidele,  mais  fier — tel  qu'on  depeint 
nos  dieux — ou  tel  que  je  vous  voi.  .  .'  I  did  it  like 
her  to  show  them — for  a  lark.  Was  it  bad  ?  " 

' w  Probably  not , "  said  Alexander  gravely.  ' '  Go  on . " 

"He  did  not  like  Sara,  and  he  wished  it  all  again 
in  the  English  way.  He  said  so."  Tony  glanced 
up  earnestly.  "  Of  course  he  did  not  mean  that  I 
should  say  it  like  Mcllwaine.  But — some  of  the 
same  words  arrived  and " 

"  And  you  could  not  resist  the  temptation.  Yes,  I 
understand,  I  think."  A  pause,  while  Mr.  Alexander 
looked  away.  "  That  sort  of  mimicry  is  dangerous, 
you  know." 

"  Philippe  says  so,"  Antoine  agreed.  "  Generally 
I  do  that  only  for  him." 

"  It  is  a  game.  But  in  school-time  games  are  out 
of  place.  Remember  that,  will  you  ?  " 


172  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Yes.   He — he  laughed  when  he  asked  me  to  read." 

"  That's  true.  It  was  not  exactly  a  lesson  for  you. 
But  it  was  for  the  others,  and  you  disturbed  them. 
That  was  the  mistake." 

"  Yes,"  said  Antoine  again.  "  Have  I  been  too 
long  ?  "  For  Alexander  laid  hands  on  his  writing 
things. 

"  No.  I  have  the  facts,  I  think  ;  and  I  will  lay 
them  before  Mr.  Fanshawe  to-night.  You  will," 
said  Alexander,  "  be  all  the  more  careful  with  him 
in  future." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Antoine,  frowning  intensely. 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  Practise,  I  think.     It  is  the  time  you  said." 

"  It  is  later  than  the  time  I  said.  Go — no,  that 
won't  do."  He  reflected.  "  Go  to  your  brother's 
room  and  stay  there  quietly  till  tea." 

Antoine  turned  round  to  look  at  him. 

"I  don't  think,"  he  said  doubtfully,  "I  know 
where  that  is." 

"  Humph,"  said  Alexander.  "  Well,  other  people 
know.  You  can  ask." 

Which  resulted  very  simply  in  the  discovery  of 
Glenmuir,  a  thing  that  Antoine  was  not  destined  to 
regret. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Glenmuir,  whose  feet  were  repos- 
ing on  his  friend's  chimney-piece. 

"  Pardon,"  said  Antoine,  nicely  as  usual. 
"  Philippe  is  not  here." 

"  He'll  be  in  directly.     Come  in  and  wait." 

Glenmuir  restored  his  feet  to  the  floor  and  shifted 
his  chair.  He  was  decidedly  curious  to  look  upon 
the  subject  of  such  widespread  gossip  in  the  house  ; 
for  no  event  of  the  least  humorous  value  is  secret  in 
schools  for  long  :  knowledge  of  which  fact  might,  in 
part,  have  excused  Mr.  Fanshawe's  recent  fury. 


NICK  173 

"  We  haven't  been  introduced  yet,  have  we  ?  " 
he  observed. 

"  It  does  not  need,"  said  Antoine  gently,  subsiding 
on  to  a  footstool  by  the  fire.  He  glanced  curiously 
about  the  study,  which  he  was  allowed  to  see  for  the 
first  time.  He  prepared  to  take  in  Lord  Glenmuir 
by  the  way  among  other  items  of  furniture  ;  but  the 
expression  of  the  special  item  was  so  attractive  that 
he  stopped  at  him  a  moment. 

"  Who  told  you  to  come  ?  "  said  Glenmuir  at  once. 

'  To  come  here  ?     Mr.  Alexander." 

"  What  ? — Oh,  he  sent  a  message  to  Edgell,  did 
he?" 

'  No,"  said  Tony.     "  I  do  not  think  so." 

"  He  did,"  said  Glenmuir,  "  and  you've  forgotten 
it  on  the  way  upstairs.  Never  mind,  we'll  invent 
another  before  he  comes."  He  leant  forward  to  warm 
his  hands.  "  Don't  look  so  scared,  he's  not  really 
dangerous." 

"  I  am  not  scared,"  said  Antoine  staring  at  him. 

"  Didn't  he  forbid  you  to  come  and  see  him  ?  " 

"  No.     He  is  not  like  that." 

"Why  haven't  you  come  before  then  ?  Five  weeks, 
ain't  it,  since  you  came  ?  " 

"  Only  that  ?  "  said  the  boy  with  a  quick  sigh. 
"  Yes,  it  is  five." 

"  Well  ?  "     Glenmuir  prompted  him. 

"  Why  I  have  not  come  here  before  ?  I  have  not 
needed  to  come.  I  do  not  need,"  said  Tony  quickly, 
"  to-day." 

"  Don't  you  ?  I  think  you  look  uncommonly 
seedy."  Glenmuir  considered  him  carefully.  "  So 
that's  what  he  told  you,  is  it  ?  To  come  if  you 
needed — what  ?  Advice  ?  " 

"  No.  Other  people  have  given  that  to  me  ;  and 
Philippe  said  that  so  it  was  best,  in  the  first  term, 
lie  knows  very  well,"  said  Tony  with  conviction. 


174  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  H'm.     Who  has  advised  you  up  to  now,  hey  ?  " 

Antoine  considered  a  moment.  "  Mr.  Alexander," 
he  began.  Then  he  stared  again,  because  Glenmuir 
collapsed. 

"What's  the  joke?"  said  Philip  entering. 
"Hullo— cheek!" 

"He  has  the  very  best  authority  for  intrusion," 
said  Glenmuir.  "  He's  been  consulting  with  Alex- 
ander, and  they  decided  on  the  whole  that  you 
deserved  a  call." 

"I  am  quite  aware  where  he  has  been,"  said 
Philip  severely.  "  Sent  up  to  the  headmaster  before 
the  first  half-term  !  I  hope  you're  ashamed  of  your- 
self. Is  that  what  you've  come  to  say  ?  (It's 
nothing  to  laugh  at,  Glenmuir,  and  if  you're  going  to 
spoil  my  jaw,  you  can  clear  out.)  Is  it  ?  "  he 
repeated  magisterially  to  the  culprit. 

"  No,"  said  Antoine.  "  I  have  come  to  say  no- 
thing ;  only  to  stay  here  till  tea.  No,  don't !  "  He 
caught  swiftly  at  Philip's  left  arm  which  levelled  a 
cuff  at  his  head. 

"  Don't  be  cheeky  then.  Tony,  I  say,  look  here. 
What  did  you  say  to  Fanshawe  ?  "  He  suddenly 
abandoned  the  magistrate. 

"  Don't  tell  him,"  said  Glenmuir.  "  He's  panting 
to  know." 

"He  was  in  a  furious  wax  when  he  went  to  Alex- 
ander," Philip  proceeded  to  his  friend.  "  Drake 
met  him  gobbling  like  a  turkey-cock.  It  must  have 
been  something  truer  than  usual.  Come  on,  kid,  let's 
hear.  We  won't  tell." 

Both  the  seniors  looked  eager. 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  of  him,"  said  Antoine 
crossly.  "  I  did  not  say  to  him  anything." 

"  Better  tell  the  truth.  Didn't  you  imitate  his 
French  ?  " 

"  No,"  with  an  impatient  sigh.     ;'  The  French  I 


NICK  175 

did  was  not  at  all  like  him.  I  told  him  it  was  not. 
I  said  I  would  show  him  if  he  wished " 

"  You  never  did  !  "  Philip  sank  rapturously  into 
a  seat.  "  Oh,  you  jewel !  " 

"  No,  I  did  not  do  it,  because  he  did  not  wish  to  see. 
He  was  so  much  too  angry." 

"  I  should  about  think  he  was  !  Did  he  lick  you — 
oh  no,  I  forgot,  he  can't.  Poor  old  Fanny,  what  a 
jar."  Philip  sighed.  "  You're  a  very  naughty  kid, 
you  know — shocking.  Do  us  a  bit  of  Fanny's  French 
now  till  the  kettle  boils." 

"  No,  I  can't." 

"  Not  practised  enough,  eh  ?  Sara,  then  :  Glen- 
muir's  not  heard  her." 

"  I  can't,'"  with  exasperation.  "  I  did  not  come 
here  for  that." 

"  I  advise  you,"  said  Philip,  relapsing  into  dignity, 
"  not  to  speak  to  me  like  that." 

"He  didn't  come  for  advice  either,"  observed 
Glenmuir.  "  He  told  me  that  before  you  came  in." 

"  Then  he'll  get  something  else  he  didn't  come  for 
instead — pretty  sharp,  if  he  don't  make  the  tea." 

Antoine  did  not  move.  As  Philip  rose  suddenly 
he  swerved  back.  "  But  yes,  I  do  want  some  ad- 
vice," he  protested,  holding  him  off  in  agitation.  "  I 
want  to  know — I  want  you  to  tell  me ' 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  What  one  shall  do — here  in  a  school — when " 

he  dropped  his  head  angrily  into  his  hands. 

There  was  a  blank  pause. 

"  That,"  said  Philip  to  Glenmuir,  "  is  generally 
the  end  of  it.  Poor  sort  of  finish,  ain't  it,  to  such  a 
jolly  day." 

But  Glenmuir  was  a  tender-hearted  youth. 

"  I  was  wondering  all  the  time  when  he  would 
give  in,"  he  said,  getting  up.  "  Tony — look  here — 
I'll  tell  you  what  one  should  do  with  a  headache. 


176  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

One  goes  to  Miss  Fen  wick — are  you  listening  ? — and 
asks  to  go  to  bed." 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  the  boy  submissively.  "  Where  is 
that  ?  " 

"  Up  the  back  stairs  by  the  drying-room.  I'll 
show  you,  if  you  come  at  once." 

"  Tea's  ready,"  Philip  observed.    Glenmuir  paused. 

"  Would  tea  be  good  for  him  ?  " 

"  Him  ?     I  mean  you.     I  shan't  wait." 

"  Brute,"  said  Glenmuir  simply ;  and  with  a 
guiding  hand  on  Tony,  departed. 

"  Give  Miss  Fenwick  my  love,"  Philip  called  after 
them,  "  and  say  I'm  beastly  sorry  that  it  isn't  me  !  " 

The  matron  had  only  crossed  Antoine's  horizon 
before  among  the  vistas  of  open  trunks  and  piles  of 
linen  on  the  earliest  days  of  his  school-life.  He  had 
heard  her  referred  to  perpetually,  however,  as  the 
last  resort  in  all  practical  questions,  even  in  those 
of  the  most  masculine  description.  She  was,  most 
simply  described,  the  right  person  in  the  right  place  ; 
and  though  she  was  the  first  of  Mr.  Alexander's 
institutions — or  rather  substitutions — no  criticism 
had  ever  approached  her.  She  liked  boys  frankly 
best  of  all  human  beings,  and  liked  them  of  all  ages 
equally.  Yet  they  could  never  be  completely  and 
permanently  dear  to  her  if  they  were  not  ill  at  least 
once  in  a  way,  and  so  helpless  on  her  hands,  which 
may  be  the  excuse  of  her  weakness  for  Philip  Edgell. 
He  had  still  enough  of  his  youthful  delicacy  to  be 
interesting,  and  he  possessed  at  all  times  a  beautiful 
knack  of  taking  attention  as  his  due,  which  especially 
in  illness  added  to  his  charm.  At  all  events  the 
preference  was  acknowledged,  by  others  if  not  by 
Miss  Fenwick  herself.  Glenmuir  knew  well  the 
power  of  his  name. 

"  Edgell's  love,  and  he  sends  you  this,"  he  said, 
pushing  Antoine  forward.  "  He's  not  able  to  come 


NICK  177 

himself,  being  unluckily  particularly  healthy.  But 
this  is  the  next  best  thing  he  can  do." 

Miss  Fenwick  put  down  her  iron,  which  was  filling 
the  small  room  with  the  comfortable  scent  of  warm 
linen,  and  came  quickly  forward. 

"  Had  a  knock  ?  "  she  said,  taking  promptly  the 
most  obvious  explanation  of  the  younger  boy's  dazed 
look.  "  A  ball,  was  it  ? — which  side  ?  "  She  put  her 
arm — as  strong  as  Glenmuir's — about  him.  "Sit 
down,"  she  commanded,  and  he  helplessly  obeyed. 

Glenmuir  explained  that  it  was  not  a  casualty  case. 
"  I  gather  from  Phil  that  he  gets  it  now  and  then 
when  he  talks  too  much.  In  five  minutes — no,  five 
seconds,"  said  Glenmuir,  sitting  on  the  ironing-table 
and  observing  the  patient,  "  he'll  find  his  tongue 
again." 

"  The  stairs,"  murmured  the  boy,  whose  face  was 
hidden  against  the  chair,  "  and  the  very  warm  room." 

"  What  did  I  say  ?  "  said  Glenmuir  in  triumph. 
"  He  can't  be  quiet  long." 

Miss  Fenwick  threw  up  the  window  with  one  hand, 
and  advanced  the  other  in  encouragement  to  Antoine. 

"  You  are  Miss  Fenwick — that  is  right  ?  "  Antoine 
put  his  hand  into  hers. 

"  Forgive  me,"  Glenmuir  murmured,  "  I  should 
have  presented  you.  Etiquette  is  not  my  forte " 

Antoine  glanced  towards  him  frowning. 

"If  you  would  not  talk — but  now  I  remember.  It 
was  to  ask  you,  may  I  go  to  bed  ?  " 

"  Quite  correct,  darlin',"  laughed  Glenmuir. 
"  Now  it's  her  turn  to  speak." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Miss  Fenwick.  "  But  she's  not 
going  to.  If  you  want  to  be  any  use,  Glenmuir, 
instead  of  a  nuisance  crumpling  my  clean  collars, 
you  will  carry  him  into  my  little  room.  He's  not 
fit  to  walk  a  step." 

"  But  I  can,"  Antoine  protested,  "  if  you  will  tell 

M 


178  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

me  where "  Glenmuir  seized  him  gently  and 

completely  before  he  could  conclude. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Tony  simply,  much 
surprised  to  find  himself  landed  in  the  same  pain- 
lessly gentle  manner  on  a  bed. 

Glenmuir  sat  alongside  for  a  minute.  "  You'll  be 
all  right  here,"  he  said,  "  and  to-morrow's  Sunday. 
Thirty  hours  good  before  you  need  begin  to  bother 
again."  He  was  silent  a  minute  ;  the  rooks  in  the 
headmaster's  elm-trees  cawed  without  the  gently 
flapping  blind,  and  a  flood  of  peace  descended  on 
the  boy's  soul,  one  of  the  rare  restful  moments  of 
his  life.  His  impulse  was  to  thank  in  words  again, 
but  he  found  that  he  could  not  for  the  moment,  for 
bewildered  gratitude  choked  him.  Before  he  could 
venture  to  try,  Glenmuir  spoke  again,  his  leisurely 
Scottish  intonation  adding  in  itself  to  the  moment's 
inspiration  of  peace. 

"  I've  often  had  ideas  about  Phil's  brother  ;  can't 
help  it,  you  know,  when  you  know  him  ;  but  I  never 
thought  for  one  single  moment  he'd  be  like  you. 
Now  I'm  going  back  before  that  greedy  brute  has 
finished  all  the  tea." 

And  two  minutes  after  he  was  gone. 


Ill 

ANTOINE  could  adapt  himself  fast  when  his  heart  was 
in  the  effort,  which  is  perhaps  what  James  Edgell 
reckoned  in  writing  so  constantly  to  him  to  inquire 
of  his  old  school,  of  how  he  fared  in  it,  and  to  exalt 
its  great  days  in  the  past.  Tony's  faith  in  his  father 
was  greater  even  than  his  faith  in  Philip.  That  which 
they  cared  for,  to  which  they  gave  such  constant 
tender  thought,  must  be  a  good  thing  in  itself  ;  and 
though  their  happy  highway  proved  a  path  of  thorns 
for  him,  his  trust  in  their  ultimate  judgment  failed 
very  rarely — only  in  the  darkest  moments  of  depres- 
sion that  it  was  his  instinct  to  conceal  from  all  eyes. 
There  is  no  doubt  he  had  luck  in  his  generation.  He 
was  plentifully  "  ragged,"  as  was  inevitable,  unkindly 
at  times,  but  seldom  brutally.  The  crime  of  being 
different  from  your  contemporaries,  though  it  cannot 
ever  be  passed  over  entirely  at  school,  can  be  con- 
doned in  a  measure  by  other  useful  qualities  such  as 
Tony  possessed  ;  not  to  mention  the  fact  that  sim- 
plicity itself  is  defeating  in  the  end  to  such  raw  minds 
as  those  with  which  he  had  to  deal.  Among  many  a 
tussle  and  many  a  fall,  the  boy  scored  some  victories 
that  would  have  surprised  himself  had  he  known 
them  :  but  he  was  not  given  to  reasoning  about  what 
happened  to  him,  taking  good  or  evil  as  they  came, 
living  for  the  day,  and  neither  expecting  nor  remem- 
bering offences,  however  much  he  might  suffer  from 
them  at  the  time  or  after.  That  suffering  he  learnt 
very  rapidly  to  hide,  venturing  to  encounter  it  only 

179 


i8o  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

in  the  few  moments  of  solitude  the  crowded  day  left 
him,  or  in  the  waking  hours  of  the  night. 

His  second  term  at  Radfield  was,  on  the  whole,  the 
happiest  he  had.  It  was  the  letters  of  this  term  that 
Jem  Edgell  forwarded  with  some  exultation  to  his 
father-in-law  ;  for  they  spoke  to  him  of  good  health, 
good  spirits,  and  the  normal  life  of  mild  effort  and 
equal  intercourse  which  his  reason  had  prescribed  as 
best  in  the  case. 

M.  Lemaure  might  no  doubt  in  simple  retaliation 
have  sent  back  some  of  the  pages  of  his  own  collec- 
tion, over  which  he  occasionally  pondered  :  but  he 
never  did  so.  He  only  continued  to  collect  informa- 
tion quietly  from  both  boys,  with  unfailing  interest 
in  a  life  as  far  from  anything  he  had  ever  known 
himself  as  a  life  could  be,  but  the  details  of  which  he 
mastered  surprisingly  :  as  his  grandsons  had  reason 
to  discover  when  they  saw  him  in  the  holidays,  or 
when  his  charming  short  letters  answered  theirs  at 
school. 

Archerson's  name  was  mentioned  rarely  to  An- 
toine's  father — more  often  to  M.  Lemaure.  When 
later  events  came  to  pass,  Jem  was  inclined  to  curse 
the  fact  that  many  of  the  letters  were  lost  or 
destroyed,  in  the  roving  life  he  led,  which  could  have 
thrown  light  on  the  problem  of  Douglas  Archerson's 
character  and  influence  on  his  son.  But  the  whole 
thing  was  actually  too  subtle  and  difficult  for  boys 
of  the  age  of  his  to  write  about  at  all,  especially  to 
one  at^such  a  distance.  Jem  suffered  negatively  for 
his  absence,  as  often  before,  no  doubt.  If  he  had  been 
there  in  the  holidays  to  be  talked  to  by  Tony,  the 
whole  current  of  a  period  of  the  boy's  life  might  have 
been  changed.  He  wrote  with  so  much  more  diffi- 
culty than  he  talked — especially  in  English  which 
Jem  exacted — that  it  was  only  wonderful  the  father 
learnt  as  much  as  he  did. 


NICK  181 

It  was  obviously  a  curious  friendship  at  the  outset, 
because  it  was  so  unequal — '  unfair,'  as  Philip  bit- 
terly described  it  later  ;  yet  only  the  most  attentive 
onlooker  could  realise  its  full  unfairness.   Very  quietly 
and  lazily  Archerson  took  all  that  he  could  get  :   all 
that  the  younger  boy's  impetuous  nature  would  give 
him.     He  used  to  the  full  his  advantages  over  him  of 
knowledge,  of  standing,  and  of  self-control.     For  in 
some  ways  even  Nick's  temper  seemed  deliberate. 
He  could  throw  a  black  rage  over  his  surroundings 
when  he  wished,  or  when  it  appeared  profitable.     He 
drew  Antoine  on  into  heated  argument,  picked  up  all 
the  entertainment  his  supple  tongue  could  offer,  and 
then  turned  and  crushed  him  with  a  smile  or  a  scowl. 
Yet  he  would  not  let  him  alone  ;  the  more  he  tempted 
him  to  betray  himself,  to  give  himself  out  by  artistic 
or  other  means,  the  more  enmeshed  he  seemed  to 
get  in  the  attraction  of  Tony  and  his  music — it  would 
be  hard  to  say  which  was  the  power  that  drew  him 
most  of  the  two.     He  sought  him  constantly,  sum- 
moned him — or  when  he  could  do  neither,  watched 
him  from  afar  with  those  deep-set,  resentful  eyes, 
which  had  at  moments  a  look  of  appeal.     It  was 
almost  as  though  there  was  something  he  desired 
greatly  which  the  small  boy  had  :   some  half-hidden 
hope  for  whose  dawning  he  waited. 

Among  those  who  looked  on  at  the  pair,  Antoine's 
brother  was  one  of  the  few  who  were  not  wholly  and 
simply  amused.  Still,  Philip's  attitude  to  Archerson 
changed  a  little,  as  he  came  to  know  him  better, 
which  he  took  some  small  pains  to  do.  Especially 
in  Tony's  society,  Douglas  could  be  charming  ;  and 
it  was  not  long  before  a  new  attraction  came  for  both 
the  Edgells  in  the  person  of  his  mother. 

The  first  Christmas  holidays,  though  he  refused 
rudely  to  stay  with  them,  Nick  in  characteristic 
fashion  summoned  Antoine  to  himself  for  a  few  days' 


182  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

visit — for  all  the  time  indeed  that  could  be  wrung 
from  the  very  unwilling  master  who  claimed  An- 
toine's  holiday  hours  for  music.  It  was  during  this 
visit  the  younger  boy  saw  Mrs.  Archerson  first,  but 
though  Philip  on  his  return  riddled  him  with  ques- 
tions, he  could  get  absolutely  no  definite  picture  of 
either  her  or  her  home  until  she  visited  the  school 
next  term.  Antoine's  genius  stopped  short  at  per- 
sonal description  always.  He  could  say  if  people 
pleased  him,  or  if  they  did  not,  and  rarely,  if  ever, 
changed  such  an  opinion  once  made  ;  but  he  could 
neither  discuss  them  nor  give  reasons — a  peculiarity 
which  constantly  annoyed  the  critical  Philip. 

He  obviously  approved  Mrs.  Archerson,  and  used 
his  word  '  curious '  about  her  :  an  epithet  which 
Philip  understood  instantly  when  she  came  for  the 
school  concert  in  the  Easter  term.  As  it  happened, 
the  occasion  was  made  memorable  to  him  by  a 
chance  contrast  so  marked  as  to  touch  the  boy's 
sense  of  humour — the  touch  that  has  power  to  define 
and  preserve  a  memory  in  certain  minds.  With  in- 
finite arts  Philip  had  cajoled  his  pretty  little  French 
aunt  to  lend  her  presence  to  what  was  really — since 
the  advent  of  a  musical  headmaster — the  event  of  the 
year  at  Radfield.  He  had  made  use  of  his  brother's 
necessarily  prominent  part  in  the  day's  doings  to 
urge  Madame  Lemaure  ;  but  he  knew  perfectly  well 
it  was  not  for  Antoine  she  came.  Madame  spoiled 
Philip  most  flagrantly,  and  would  have  done  far  more 
surprising  things  to  oblige  him  than  bearing  for  a 
day  of  the  society  of  "  pedagogues  anglais  "  and  their 
wives.  She  did  come,  and  to  Philip's  great  content, 
she  came  alone,  though  she  had  declared  originally 
that  she  would  make  her  husband  bring  her.  But 
M.  Lemaure  the  younger  refused  to  appear,  having 
at  the  moment  a  quarrel  with  the  school.  He  pro- 
foundly disapproved  of  Antoine's  performing  in 


NICK  183 

public,  and  the  boy  had  had  a  good  deal  to  bear  be- 
tween his  guardian's  acrid  letters  and  the  pressure 
brought  to  bear  on  him  by  the  new  society  to  which 
he  now  belonged.  His  playing  was  an  asset  to  Rad- 
field  naturally,  and  Radfield  asserted  its  right  to  make 
use  of  him  on  an  occasion  like  the  present.  It  was 
the  first  time  he  felt  powerfully  the  tug  between  the 
two  lives  he  had  to  lead,  a  tug  recurring  afterwards 
so  constantly.  It  worried  him,  and  though  on  this  oc- 
casion his  master  capitulated,  he  bore  about  with  him 
all  day  the  signs  of  worry,  and  no  small  sense  of  guilt. 

"  Who  on — earth — is  that  ?  "  It  was  Madame 
Lemaure  who  asked  the  question.  She  had  been 
well  amused  all  day,  to  her  great  surprise,  and  she 
was  now  engaged  in  observing  society,  as  it  shifted 
round  her  on  the  headmaster's  lawn  ;  society  observ- 
ing furtively  in  return  the  details  of  a  costume  wasted 
on  them,  as  Madame  privately  considered ;  but 
sufficing  to  provide,  among  the  female  portion  of 
them  at  least,  discussion  for  weeks  to  come. 

"  Philippe,  do  look  quick.     There  it  is  again." 

"  It  !  "     Philip  chaffed  her. 

"  Well,  but  I  ask  you — woman  or  man  ?  " 

"  Be  quiet,"  Philip  urged,  dropping  his  voice.  "  I 
don't  know  who  she  is,  but  she  can  hear  everything 
you  say." 

"  Bah — no  figure  like  that  ever  spoke  French," 
said  Madame  serenely.  "  Nor  understood  it  either. 
There,"  she  proceeded,  "  it  speaks  with  Antoine 
now.  Who  can  it  be  ?  " 

Philip  observed  the  lady  criticised  for  a  moment 
with  new  attention  ;  then  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  think  I  know,"  he  told  her.  "  I  shall  make  the 
kid  introduce  me,  and  then  I  shall  bring  her  to  you, 
just  to  pay  you  out." 

Madame  caught  his  arm  with  a  swift  pretty  move- 
ment. 


184  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Darling,  spare  me  :  I  cannot.  I  have  borne 
enough." 

"  Not  nearly,"  said  Philip.    "  Has  she,  Glenmuir  ?  " 

"  He  means  to  pick  out  the  finest  freaks  of  all  to 
come  to  tea,"  said  Glenmuir,  whose  relations  were 
abroad,  and  who  was  consequently  driven  to  be 
agreeable  to  those  of  other  people. 

"  Never — he  will  not !  Not  the  pasteur  Garett  with 
those  big  daughters  that  talk  of  the  football :  not  the 
dreadful  giant  to  whose  knees  I  reach."  Philip  had 
been  trying  for  half  the  day  to  persuade  her  that 
Mr.  Johnstone's  size  was  not  singly  sufficient  for  his 
condemnation. 

"  Let  me  have  you  alone  for  tea,"  Madame  mur- 
mured, looking  up  at  him,  "  in  that  absurd  delicious 
little  room  where  I  did  not  smell  the  tobacco-smoke." 

"  Do  be  quiet,"  said  Philip  once  more,  nearly 
shaking  her,  for  the  headmaster  was  at  her  elbow  as 
she  spoke. 

"  I  said  I  did  not  smell  it,  darling,"  Madame 
murmured  protesting.  "  I  saw  the  officers  who 
approached." 

"  You  are  going  to  have  tea  in  my  room,  if  you 
don't  mind,"  said  Glenmuir.  "  It's  bigger  than 
Philip's,  you  know." 

"  And  why  ?  "  demanded  Madame.  "  Because 
you  are  one  of  the  English  aristocracy  ?  " 

"  That's  it,"  said  Philip.  "  His  relations  in  coronets 
are  thick  on  the  walls.  They  had  to  give  him  a  big 
room  to  make  the  most  of  them." 

"  It's  not  a  coronet,"  said  Glenmuir,  who  had 
borne  chaff  unspeakable  on  the  subject  of  his  beau- 
tiful mother,  whose  portrait  he  refused  to  move  from 
its  place  of  honour  over  the  hearth,  merely  because 
it  there  became  the  butt  of  candid  friends. 

But  Philip,  whose  eyes  had  not  quitted  Mrs. 
Archerson's  remarkable  figure,  suddenly  moved  away. 


NICK  185 

"  Why,"  said  Madame,  looking  round.  "  He  has 
really  gone.  I  thought  he  was  jesting  about  that 
lady." 

''  You  see,"  Glenmuir  explained,  "  we  are  all  rather 
interested  in  Mrs.  Archerson,  because  her  kid — 
her  son — is  rather  a  character.  He  is  one  of  the 
cleverest  chaps  in  the  school." 

"  Evidently  the  mother  is  clever  also,"  said 
Madame. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Glenmuir  innocently. 
"  The  boots — the  hat ;    principally  the  hat." 
Involuntarily  the  boy  glanced  at  his  companion's 
head. 

"  You  judge  that  I  am  imbecile  ?  "  said  Madame, 
who  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  tease  him. 
"  No  !  but  I  will  make  you  observe,  there  are  as 
many  kinds  of  intelligence  as  of  hats.  I  speak  of 
women,  naturally.  Perhaps — "  she  bethought  her- 
self with  compassion,  "  you  have  not  observed  them 
much  at  present." 

"  No,"  said  Glenmuir.  "  I've  got  no  sisters."  He 
was  watching  Philip's  proceedings  in  the  distance 
too  attentively  to  be  aware  of  her  amused  eyes  upon 
him.  "  He  is  bringing  her,"  he  ejaculated  suddenly. 
"  I  say,  shall  I  take  you  in  ?  "  He  swung  round  to 
the  little  Frenchwoman. 

Madame  considered  the  question,  and  gently 
shook  her  head. 

"  Possibly  I  am  curious,"  she  said,  "  of  the  kind 
of  intelligence.  I  prefer  to  stay." 

"  Well,"  said  Glenmuir,  "  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll 
go  in  and  make  tea." 

"  Ah  ?  I  thought  you  made  the  little  boys  do  that," 
said  Madame. 

Glenmuir  paused,  looking  in  doubt  at  the  advanc- 
ing group. 
"  I  could  send  Tony,  of  course " 


186  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Antoine  ?  "  Madame  threw  out  a  hand  of  protest. 
"  For  heaven's  sake — no." 

"  He  is  rather  good  at  it  generally." 

"  But  the  day  of  a  concert — heavens  !  " 

Glenmuir  laughed  and  went  off.  He  gave,  since 
it  has  to  be  confessed,  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  as  soon 
as  he  was  round  the  corner.  Later,  as  he  straightened 
his  room  for  company,  he  glanced  at  least  twice  at 
his  mother's  portrait,  and  wished  that  she  was  there 
to  sit  behind  his  tea-table.  But  he  was  as  prompt  and 
charming  as  possible  again  by  the  time  the  company 
arrived. 

The  whole  party  came  to  tea  :  for  Madame  herself 
politely  invited  Mrs.  Archerson,  as  soon  as  they  had 
exchanged  half  a  dozen  words.  She  did  not  ask 
Nick  ;  but  he  came,  foreseeing  the  prospect  of  what  he 
called  conversation,  and  planted  himself  on  the  floor 
in  Glenmuir's  window,  some  way  apart  from  the  rest. 

At  first  the  two  ladies  held  the  talk,  and  the  boys 
fed  themselves  and  listened  well  amused.  Probably 
the  contrast  struck  all  of  them  except  Antoine  ; 
though  he  was  nearest  to  Mrs.  Archerson,  and 
glanced  at  them  alternately  as  they  spoke.  Occasion- 
ally something  amused  him,  however,  and  then  he 
laughed.  When  he  did  so,  Nick's  mother  invariably 
glanced  round,  as  even  Madame  noticed. 

"  Do  not  heed  the  little  boy,"  she  remarked  once. 
"  He  laughs  at  nothing  always.  At  how  I  speak 
English  probably.  Since  his  own  is  so  much  better, 
he  has  need." 

"  It  was  what  you  said,"  Antoine  protested. 

"  It  was  extremely  serious,"  said  Madame  severely. 
"  I  had  no  need  of  an  impertinent  to  laugh  ;  now  you 
have  quite  deranged  the  answer  of  Madame,  who 
was  about  to  crush  me  with  a  Greek  poet." 

"  If  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Archerson.  "  Tony  would 
have  cause  to  laugh  again.  I  know  no  Greek." 


NICK  187 

Both  the  younger  boys  exclaimed. 

"  Aha  !  "  said  Madame. 

"  He  said  you  taught  him  Greek,"  Antoine  sug- 
gested. 

"Douglas?  Perhaps  I  did  once.  But  by  the 
time  I  had  given  what  I  knew  to  him,  there  was  none 
left  for  myself." 

Madame  shook  her  head  gravely.  ' '  My  husband," 
she  remarked,  "  says  one  learns  more  in  the  teaching, 
-not  less  :  and  he  has  taught  all  his  life.  What  am  I 
to  believe  ?  " 

"  He  teaches  Tony,  doesn't  he  ?  "  said  Nick,  who 
was  gazing  at  the  ceiling  above  their  heads. 

' '  What  then  ? ' '  said  Madame  quickly.  She  greatly 
disapproved  of  Nick's  manners. 

"  Well,  my  mother  was  talking  of  teaching  me. 
It  would  naturally  be  quite  different,  wouldn't  it, 
mother  ?  " 

"  Is  he  flattering  you,  cheri  ?  "  said  Madame,  lift- 
ing her  eyebrows  at  Antoine.  He  shook  his  head 
expressively. 

"  I  don't  see  at  present  how  you  work  it  out,"  said 
the  mother  over  her  shoulder  to  the  boy. 

"  You're  precious  slow  then,"  returned  Nick,  and 
Madame  Lemaure  stiffened  visibly.  "  If  you  learn 
what  you  teach,  it  means  you  go  over  the  same 
ground  pretty  often  ;  don't  say  much  for  the  pupil, 
see  ?  " 

"  If  you  forget  what  you  teach,"  his  mother  pro- 
ceeded slowly,  "  it  says  everything  for  the  pupil ;  for 
it  means  the  pupil  is  more  gifted  than  the  teacher." 

"  That's  it,"  Nick  approved  her.  "  Now  then, 
which  pupil  is  me  and  which  is  Tony  ?  ' 

"It  is  quite  a  pity,"  laughed  Madame,  "that 
Antoine 's  teacher  is  not  here,  for  he  would  un- 
doubtedly have  an  opinion."  Inwardly  she  was 
saying  piously  :  "  Quelle  famille — bon  Dieu  !  " 


188  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Tony  doesn't  think  it's  a  pity,"  said  Douglas,  his 
lazy  eyes  resting  on  Antoine. 

Madame's  clear,  pale  skin  flushed  slightly ;  Antoine 
meeting  her  quick  glance  blushed  too.  He  was 
deeply  relieved  by  his  uncle's  absence  as  a  fact  ;  but 
he  knew  also  that  the  fact  should  be  kept  from  her. 

"  It  seems,"  said  Madame  to  Mrs.  Archerson,  having 
looked  him  over  at  leisure,  "  you  have  a  son  who 
speaks  the  truth." 

"  Treason,"  said  that  lady  quickly.  "  Not  truth. 
Truth-tellers  should  learn  the  difference." 

' '  What  is  the  difference  ? ' '  Philip  asked.  He  liked 
what  he  called  to  himself  her  straight  play.  His  aunt 
was  right  that  she  was  like  a  man.  She  sat  in  her 
low  chair  like  a  man,  her  feet  firmly  planted  and  her 
knees  apart.  Her  strong,  useful-looking  hands  were 
playing  with  some  trifle  of  paper  she  had  taken  from 
one  of  the  plates,  flattening  the  frill  of  it  with  her 
thumbs  as  she  talked.  Her  rugged  face  had  barely 
any  claim  to  beauty,  except  for  certain  lines  about 
her  eyes,  whose  frank  look  through  thick  fringes 
added  to  their  charm.  They  considered  Philip  now 
when  he  addressed  her. 

"  Treason  and  truth  ?  Something  like  the  difference 
between  giving  away  public  funds,  and  giving  away 
private  property  on  the  sly, ' '  she  suggested .  "Really 
a  thing  people  ought  to  know  without  definitions." 

' '  This  is  the  very  old  subj  ect, "  said  Archerson,  rising 
on  his  bent  arm.  "  What  people  regard  as  '  private  ' 
is  mostly  humbug.  It's  one  of  the  commonest 
humbugs  there  is.  People  coming  crawling  to  say  : 
'  it's  the  truth — keep  it  dark.'  I  say :  '  it's  the  truth 
— shout  it  out  as  loud  as  possible.'  ' 

"  Regardless  of  people's  feelings,"  Mrs.  Archerson 
appended. 

"  And  if  the  other  people,"  Madame  said  gently, 
"  shout  your  secrets  regardless  of  yours  ?  " 


NICK  189 

"  Let  them  !  "  said  Nick.  "  They're  welcome  to 
everything  I've  got." 

'  Then  they're  welcome  to  rubbish,"  said  his 
mother,  with  great  and  quiet  emphasis.  As  the 
room  was  silent  in  surprise,  she  proceeded  with  the 
same  quietness,  her  queer  light  eyes  shining  on  those 
she  watched. 

"  Dear  me,  yes,  I  should  think  so.  No  private 
faith — private  hopes — private  griefs — or  renuncia- 
tions ;  nothing  unformed,  unfinished — too  delicate 
to  bear  the  light,  too  sweet  to  hear  but  in  the  silence. 
Pitiful,  isn't  it.  Tony  ?  "  She  threw  her  hand 
suddenly  to  him,  as  though  for  support. 

"  Poetical !  "  grunted  Nick,  and  dropped  down 
again  into  his  place. 

"  Is  poetry  humbug,  Archerson  ?  "  asked  Philip  ; 
for  his  aunt  had  fallen  quite  silent,  watching  the 
strange  people  :  marking  their  rough  gestures  and 
unmodulated  voices. 

"  Poetry  isn't,  of  course.  Poeticalness  is.  Art  isn't 
humbug  ;  artisticalness  is.  Art  and  Poetry  are  the 
real  things — about  the  only  real  things  in  the  world. 
They  don't,"  said  the  boy  gruffly,  "  need  talking 
about  at  all." 

"  Why,"  said  Mrs.  Archerson,  "  there  perhaps  we 
can  agree."  She  still  had  a  hand  on  Tony's  knee. 

"Is  it  rare,"  said  Madame,  "  for  you  and  your 
clever  son  to  agree  ?  " 

"  Quite  rare,"  she  said.  "  That  is  how  I  found 
this  boy  so  useful.  He  supports  me,  now  and  then." 

"  Because  he's  polite,"  Archerson  growled.  His 
expression  on  the  word  was  wonderful. 

"  Manners,"  said  Madame,  glancing  drily  at  the 
speaker,  "  are  also  rubbish,  of  course."  She  longed 
to  add  :  "  it  is  self-evident." 

Mrs.  Archerson  raised  a  hand. 

"  Please  don't  begin  to  discuss  manners." 


THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  And  why  not  ?  " 

"  They  are  like  some  other  sweet  things,  pleasanter 
undiscussed." 

"  Hush,"  said  Philip.     "  You'll  rouse  him  again." 

He  felt  he  had  known  her  all  his  life.  She  was 
"  curious,"  and  he  liked  her.  He  agreed  completely 
with  Antoine's  view  of  the  case. 

"  I  have  been  told,"  said  Madame  Lemaure,  "  it  is 
the  small  people  in  the  world  who  value  manners." 

Nick  gave  an  involuntary  jerk  of  agreement,  for 
which  she  seemed  to  wait  before  she  continued  : 

"  But  I  observe  it  is  always  the  mannerless  person 
who  tells  me  so." 

Mrs.  Archerson  laughed  aloud,  her  light  eyes 
vanishing  in  their  lashes. 

"  Weren't  you  asking  the  other  day  what  people 
meant  by  wit  ?  "  she  observed  to  the  boy  behind,  as 
if  informing  him.  Douglas  jerked  again  with  ill- 
temper. 

"  What  I  asked  was — what's  the  good  of  it,"  he 
said,  just  not  inaudibly. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  said  Mrs.  Archerson,  looking  all  round. 
"  That  is  surely  too  rude  to  be  borne.  Won't  some- 
body answer  him  ?  " 

Philip,  who  had  risen  to  his  feet  behind  his  aunt, 
and  was  leaning  on  her  chair,  had  slipped  a  hand 
over  her  shoulder,  and  Madame  openly  clung  to  the 
hand. 

"  She's  so  helpless,  isn't  she  ?  "  said  Philip,  looking 
down  at  her.  "  Not  a  bit  able  to  defend  herself — 
are  you,  Madame  ?  Simply  awfully  in  need  of 
assistance — always. ' ' 

Mrs.  Archerson  looked  at  them  both  curiously  a 
minute,  and  then  gave  a  quick  side  glance  to  Antoine. 
He  had  been,  for  him,  exceedingly  quiet ;  Madame 
Lemaure's  presence  was  alone  enough  to  account  for 
this  ;  but  also,  as  she  had  mentioned  to  Glenmuir. 


NICK  191 

he  was  apt  to  be  a  little  odd  on  days  when  music 
was  required  of  him.  He  had  eaten  his  tea  silently 
and  thoroughly — that  Tony  could  be  always  trusted 
to  do — and  exchanged  an  occasional  word  aside 
with  Glenmuir,  until  that  gentleman  slipped  away  to 
his  steward's  duties  in  the  hall.  Since  then  he  had 
sat  still,  and  any  one  might  have  said,  bored. 

"  Where's  you  tongue,  Tony  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Archer- 
son.  "  Doesn't  the  defence  of  wit  appeal  to  you  ?  " 

"  Or  the  defence  of  me,"  said  Madame  with  pathos. 
"  Defend  me,  dear  ;  Philippe  is  too  lazy." 

The  boy  glanced  at  her  rather  nervously.  "  I 
don't  know  what  I  shall  say,"  he  objected. 

"  Which  means,  you  were  not  listening,"  said 
Madame.  "  Confess." 

"  Yes, — but  I  think  so."  His  glance  moved  from 
Douglas  back  to  her.  "  Wit  is  esprit,  yes  ?  It  is 
that  you  have  not  it." 

They  laughed  at  him. 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  Madame  smiled. 
"  Only  that  the  poor  esprit  that  I  possess  is  of  no 
value  to  the  world — or  to  Mr.  Archerson." 

"  He  said  it  was  humbug,  perhaps,"  said  Antoine 
with  a  bright  idea. 

"  Haven't  you  been  attending  at  all  ?  "  snapped 
Douglas.  "  It's  not  much  good  coming  in  if  you've 
not.  I  never  used  the  word  in  the  connection,  as  it 
happens." 

"It  was  so  amiable  to  avoid  it,"  murmured 
Madame. 

"  I  do  not  think,"  said  Tony,  anxiously  frowning, 
"  that  wit  and  esprit  are  the  same.  And  humbug," 
he  added  after  thought,  "  we  have  not  at  all  in 
French,  I  think." 

"  Thank  you,  darling,"  said  Madame,  gratified,  but 
mocking  still.  "  Really  you  lift  a  load  from  my  mind. 
Voyons  ! — "  she  freed  her  little  hand  from  Philip  to 


192  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

demonstrate.  "  I  may  still  have  esprit,  though  your 
friend  condemns  my  wit.  And  humbug  I  need  not 
have  at  all,  for  it  is  the  English  speciality.  Superb  !  " 
She  rose  dramatically,  sweeping  her  skirts  about  her. 
Passing  by  Douglas  in  the  window,  she  stopped. 

"  Humbug  is  the  very,  very  last  thing  that  is  the 
English  speciality,"  she  said  softly.  "  Do  I  hear 
you  say  that  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Archerson,  colouring  deeply.  "  I  said 
nothing  of  the  sort."  He  hated  to  be  vanquished 
in  public  when  he  had  intended  to  shine.  How 
dared  she  speak  his  very  thoughts  aloud  like  this,  a 
mere  Frenchwoman,  with  all  her  silks  and  scents 
about  her  !  Was  she  not  herself  the  very  epitome 
of  all  he  loved  to  call  humbug  ? 

He  threw  a  lowering  look  beyond  her  to  Antoine, 
who  had  brought  up  the  dangerous  word  ;  and 
Antoine  at  the  look  gripped  the  table,  frowning  more 
than  ever — for  he  was  well  used  to  Nick's  electrical 
passions  by  now.  Somewhat  to  his  relief,  his  aunt 
and  Philip  had  passed  out  before  this  one  broke. 
Archerson's  grim  look  seemed  to  wait  for  his  mother 
to  follow  them,  but  instead  Mrs.  Archerson  sat  down 
quietly  on  the  edge  of  Glenmuir's  table. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  Tony,"  he  said  brusquely  to  her. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Archerson.  "  He  is  quite 
ready  to  be  abused.  He  has  a  strong  position." 

"  He  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     You  were  rude  to  his  relations." 

"I  can't  bear  his  relations,"  said  Nick. 
'  You  could  easily  have  avoided  them,"  his  mother 
returned. 

"  He  can  answer  for  himself,"  said  Nick. 

"  I  am  sure  he  can.  But  he  would  be  too  polite 
to  say  that." 

"  Hang  his  politeness.  He  can  be  beastly  rude 
himself  when  he  likes." 


NICK  193 

"  Not  to  your  relations,"  said  Mrs.  Archerson  with 
complete  calmness.  "If  he  had  spoken  to  me  as 
you  spoke  to  his  aunt  just  now " 

Nick  recoiled  glowering.  Then,  "  I  shouldn't  have 
cared,"  he  said,  kicking  the  leg  of  a  chair. 

"  Yes  !  "  Tony  broke  sharply  out.  "  There  is  the 
humbug — when  you  say  you  would  not  care." 

"Take  care,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Archerson  very  low. 
For  the  boy  beyond  looked  as  if  he  would  have  leapt. 

"  Awfully  polite,  isn't  he  ?  "  grinned  Douglas.  He 
stood  a  minute  panting  in  silence,  looking  them  both 
over  with  his  smouldering  eyes.  "  What's  it  to 
you  if  I  care  for  my  mother  ?  You  know  nothing 
about  it  ?  " 

"  Douglas  !  "  his  mother  ejaculated.  For  a  minute 
the  anger  leapt  in  her  own  eyes  to  match  his.  But 
she  retained  complete  control  of  herself.  "  If  you 
do  not  apologise  for  that,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  have  to 
do  so." 

She  held  his  eyes  for  a  minute.  "  Well,  he  in- 
sulted me.  I'm  not  a  humbug,  and  he  knows  it." 
Then  his  anger  dropped  from  him  as  suddenly  as  a 
mask. 

"  Poor  little  Tony,"  he  said  advancing.  "  Only 
my  way.  I  beg  its  pardon,  of  course."  He  came 
up  nearer  to  where  the  younger  boy  still  stood  by 
the  table  ;  but  Mrs.  Archerson  kept  between  them. 
She  put  both  her  hands  on  Antoine's  shoulders. 

"  You  will  have  to  forgive  him,"  she  said  quietly, 
"  not  only  this  but  many  times  over ;  hundreds  of 
times.  Are  you  equal  to  it  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  at  her  very  curiously.  His  eyes 
were  shy  and  almost  sullen.  He  did  not  speak  a 
word. 

"  Oh,  he'll  forgive  me,"  said  Douglas  easily. 
"  That's  what  kids  of  his  sort  are  made  for.  I've 
said  far  worse  things  than  that."  He  appeared 

N 


194  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

almost  complacent,  yet  there  was  a  shadow  of 
suspicion  in  the  watch  he  kept  on  her  proceedings. 

"And  as  for  mothers,"  said  Mrs.  Archerson,  "if 
you  want  to  know  anything  about  them,  as  my  boy 
so  generously  said  just  now,  I  am  ready  to  teach 
you,  Tony.  I  taught  him  long  ago." 

"  Shut  up,"  the  other  boy  said,  choking.  "  Leave 
go  this  minute."  Jealousy  seemed  to  illuminate 
him,  as  he  stood  beside  them  with  clenched  hands. 

"  You  brought  it  on  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Archerson, 
rising  the  next  moment.  "  You  never  did  so  more 
deliberately  in  your  life.  Now,  leave  him  alone, 
please,  and  come  for  a  walk  with  me." 

Nick  followed  her  sulkily  out. 

Mrs.  Archerson  did  not  see  Tony  again  till  the 
concert  hour  arrived.  He  played  in  the  orchestra, 
in  the  quartette,  and  alone  ;  so  that  his  friends  saw 
little  of  him  in  private  during  the  evening.  The 
orchestra  afforded  Antoine  much  pleasure  and 
amusement,  the  quartette  none  at  all ;  in  each  case 
on  purely  personal  grounds.  Mr.  Price  directed  the 
orchestra,  and  at  the  end  of  the  first  week,  regardless 
of  lively  comment,  he  gave  Antoine's  violin  the  lead- 
ing position  it  had  held  ever  since.  Antoine's  eyes 
hardly  ever  left  Mr.  Price  while  he  played,  he  found 
him  so  pleasing  to  watch,  and  ready  at  any  instant 
to  share  with  him  privately  the  jokes  that  this 
remarkable  kind  of  music  provided.  Mr.  Price  had 
also  originated  the  quartette — but  unfortunately 
could  go  no  further  than  its  invention.  Mr.  Car- 
michael  (who  played  tenor  in  the  orchestra,  led  the 
quartette,  and  in  his  proximity  Antoine  was  never 
less  than  miserable.  Not  that  Carmichael  was  unkind  ; 
he  disliked  Antoine  as  much  as  ever,  but  it  was  some 
time  now  since  he  had  been  heedful  to  conceal  the 
dislike,  and  it  very  rarely  appeared,  especially  in 


NICK  195 

public.  To-night  Mr.  Carmichael  was  even  festive, 
and  looked  remarkably  fine,  for  he  had  a  good  pre- 
sence. He  had  an  air  of  being  very  kind  to  the 
little  boy  at  his  side,  which,  as  they  were  generally 
known  to  be  master  and  pupil,  made  an  excellent 
effect. 

"  Are  those  your  people,  Edgell  ?  I  think  they 
are  looking  for  you." 

Madame  Lemaure,  a  radiant  vision,  had  come  to 
the  front  of  the  hall,  and  was  seeking  pathetically 
for  a  seat  in  the  crush  about  her.  Mr.  Carmichael 
found  her  place  with  an  air,  and  swung  aside  two 
chairs  to  let  her  pass.  Whereupon  Madame's  eye 
invited  Antoine. 

"  This  is  your  master,  dear  ?  Introduce  me, 
please.  Yes,"  she  confessed  to  Carmichael.  "  I  had 
forgotten  the  long  name — awful,  is  it  not  ?  But  my 
husband  would  regret  so  much  if  I  had  not  spoken 
to  you.  This  is  a  good  boy — I  hope  ?  "  She  touched 
Antoine's  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  perfect,"  said  Mr.  Carmichael,  bending  with 
a  twist  of  his  moustache. 

"  Which  means — not  at  all  ?  Oh,  I  am  in  despair." 
Madame  smiled.  "  My  husband  thought  he  might 
be  good  at  school.  He  said  one  made  the  little  boys 
good." 

"  We  are  supposed  to,"  said  Mr.  Carmichael. 
"  But  some  cases  defeat  us,  don't  you  know.  Come, 
Edgell,  we're  wanted." 

"  You  have  very  much  work  to-night  ?  "  said 
Madame  with  sympathy. 

"Pretty  well,"  said  Carmichael.  "  He'll  have 
more,  eh  ?  "  He  glanced  again  at  the  boy.  "  Because 
he  has  the  solo  too." 

"  Are  you  not  playing  to  us  ?  "  said  Madame,  as 
he  had  intended.  "  Ah,  but  that  is  much  to  regret." 

"  Nothing    to    regret,"    he    returned   gracefully. 


196  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Your  nephew  will  have  double  my  success.  On 
these  occasions,"  he  added,  answering  her  laughing 
look,  "  one  retires  in  favour  of  the  kids.  Sorry  I 
must  carry  him  off,  they're  waiting." 

Madame  was  content  with  Mr.  Carmichael,  and 
told  Philip  so. 

"  Tony  rags  him  pretty  well,"  was  Philip's  com- 
ment ;  and  he  added  :  "  Carmichael  looks  as  if  he'd 
like  to  bite  his  head  off  sometimes." 

"  You  have  such  expressions,"  sighed  Madame. 
"  I  found  his  manner  most  agreeable." 

Philip  shut  his  mouth,  and  reflected  sagely  that 
things  might  be  concealed  from  the  foreigner,  even 
when  the  foreigner  was  Madame.  Some  opportunity 
of  just  perception  was  clearly  denied  to  one  who 
could  turn  from  Johnstone  to  praise  Carmichael. 
Gloriously  secure  in  his  young  British  judgment,  he 
did  not  trouble  to  dwell  on  the  question,  and  was 
soon  laughing  with  her  on  other  matters. 

"  Now,  if  you  don't  see  what  I  mean,'''  said  Douglas 
Archerson  to  his  mother,  "  I'll  never  think  anything 
of  you  again." 

Antoine  had  freed  himself  from  the  disagreeable 
entanglement  of  the  Radfield  quartette,  and  climbing 
the  platform  at  leisure  and  alone,  stood  tuning  his 
violin  by  the  accompanist. 

"  What  a  threat,"  said  Mrs.  Archerson.  "  I  warned 
you  I  know  nothing  whatever  of  music." 

"  Pooh,"  said  Archerson.  "  No  more  do  I.  It's 
nothing  to  do  with  music." 

"  My  dear  boy  !  " 

"  It's  not,"  said  Nick  obstinately.  "  It's  something 
utterly  different,  I  tell  you.  You'll  see." 

"  If  it  is,  I  may  have  seen  it  already." 

"  No,  you  mayn't,"  snapped  Douglas.  "  I  never 
did  till  he  played,  so  you  couldn't." 


NICK  197 

Mrs.  Archerson  smiled,  and  lifted  her  light  eyes 
with  curiosity  on  to  Antoine.  He  certainly  looked 
different,  she  admitted  ;  but  then  she  had  thought 
him  so  singularly  unlike  himself  that  afternoon. 
For  such  a  }'oung  face,  she  reflected,  it  was  obstinate, 
or  else  she  saw  his  jaw  better  from  below  ;  she 
looked  a  little  higher  and  added,  haughty.  Almost 
the  same  moment  he  caught  her  eye,  and  she  abused 
herself  for  such  an  absurd  idea,  for  he  was  ridicu- 
lously young  and  mischievous  on  the  instant.  The 
grand  expression  was  simply  acting,  of  course.  He 
had  been  copying  some  one  whose  presence  in  public 
he  admired.  It  was  like  Tony  to  do  it,  and  like  Tony 
promptly  to  give  himself  away  on  the  smallest  pro- 
vocation. He  had  hardly  got  his  mouth  straight  by 
the  time  he  began  to  play. 

"  Cool  little  beggar,  ain't  he  ?  "  said  Mr.  Carmichael 
to  the  Misses  Garett.  "  Regular  monkey  to  teach. 
Never  know  where  to  have  him.  But  he  knows  how 
to  hit  the  public,  you'll  see.  Got  it  in  the  blood." 

The  Misses  Garett — who  were  the  public — felt 
apologetic.  It  seemed  almost  incumbent  on  them 
not  to  be  "  hit  "  in  such  distinguished  society.  They 
were  lightly  critical  of  Antoine,  capping  one  another's 
remarks  with  wariness,  since  Mr.  Carmichael  proved 
condescending. 

"  Who's  that  old  lady  in  the  second  row — his 
mother  ?  " 

"  Goodness  no.  The  idea  of  that  being  Edgell's 
mother."  (Miss  Connie  was  one  of  Philip's  admirers.) 
';  Besides,  they  haven't  got  one.  She  belongs  to 
that  ugly  boy  Archerson.  She's  exactly  like  him.  I 
saw  her  with  him  this  evening,  striding  five  miles  an 
hour  down  the  Aspendale  road." 

Miss  Grace  yawned  furtively.  "This  is  the  last 
thing,  isn't  it  ?  What's  he  going  to  play  ?  I've  lost 
my  programme.  Ask  father  for  his." 


198  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Father's  talking  to  Mr.  Alexander,"  Connie  mur- 
mured. "  I  really  can't.  Mr.  Carmichael  will  know." 

"  Haven't  an  idea,"  said  Carmichael  when  applied 
to. 

"  Oh  !     You're  joking." 

"  Assure  you  not.  He  didn't  do  me  the  honour 
to  consult  me,  and  I  washed  my  hands  of  him.  He 
wrote  to  Lemaure — his  uncle,  don't  you  know — so  I 
understand  from  Price  ;  and  Lemaure  told  him  to 
go  to  the  deuce.  Beg  pardon,  Miss  Grace,  but  it's  a 
fact.  Said  he  wasn't  fit  to  play  anything,  and  never 
would  be.  Kid  mentioned  it  quite  calmly — not  the 
least  put  out.  Probably  thinks  he  knows  a  great  deal 
better  than  Lemaure." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Carmichael !  " — Miss  Constance  was 
giggling — "  you  really  mustn't.  She  never  stops  if 
she  once  begins.  Oh — Mr.  Alexander  is  looking 
this  way." 

Mr.  Garett's  thin  saint-like  head  was  turned  in 
their  direction.  "  Constance,  my  dear,  Mr.  Alexander 
is  anxious  for  perfect  silence  if  possible.  Will  you 
tell  your  sister  ?  " 

Immediate  result — a  mask-like  gravity  along  the 
row  having  the  misfortune  to  contain  the  headmaster. 

"  Well  now,"  said  Miss  Garett,  turning  to  her 
neighbour  when  the  strain  was  relieved.  "  What 
was  it  ?  I  seem  to  know  it  ever  so  well.  There 
now,  what's  become  of  Mr.  Carmichael  ?  I  thought 
he  meant  to  stop  and  be  jolly  a  bit."  (This  in  confi- 
dence to  her  sister,  of  course.)  "  Can  you  hear 
what  Mr.  Alexander  is  saying  ?  He's  so  awfully 
musical,  he's  sure  to  know  everything." 

"  The  young  Lemaure — amazing,  isn't  it  ?  Yes, 
that  will  be  the  season  my  father  used  to  speak  of — 
early  sixties,  wasn't  it  ? — when  those  very  sketches 
of  mine  were  made.  I  have  them  safe  somewhere — 
I'll  look  them  out.  Ha,  but  I  wonder  if  these  boys 


NICK  199 

should  see  them.  It's  rank  caricature,  and  I'm  sure 
Edgell  adores  him — and  the  little  one  would  be 
worse.  Oh  dear  yes,  absurdly,  even  now.  All  his 
tricks — and  the  tilt  of  head — hands — smile  above  all. 
Look  at  him  now — how  he  enjoys  it,  the  little 
monkey.  Well,  I  must  stop  those  fellows  behind — 
we're  later  than  custom,  I  think." 

Mr.  Alexander  looked  at  his  watch,  and  rose, 
holding  it.  The  noise  decreased  as  he  watched  the 
ranks  straight  and  smiling.  A  very  slight  shake  of 
his  iron-grey  head  reminded  the  persistent  that  en- 
cores were  not  permitted  on  state  occasions — and 
Tony's  admirers  gradually  subsided.  When  the  very 
last  murmur  had  faded  out,  he  turned  and  nodded 
to  Mr.  Price,  and  the  packed  room  surged  to  its  feet 
for  the  school  choral. 

Mrs.  Archerson  passed  Madame  Lemaure  on  the 
way  out,  and  gave  her  her  pleasant  smile.  Madame 
was  detained  by  her  in  the  crush  a  moment. 

"  Your  son  has  abandoned  you  ?  Are  they  not 
distracting  ?  Philippe  has  flown  too — some  duty  of 
gendarmerie.  And  I  to  find  my  way  in  this  barrack 
alone  !  Where  is  yours  ?  " 

"  Wheresoever  Tony  is.  I  shall  not  see  him  again." 
Mrs.  Archerson  smiled  quietly. 

"  How  ? — but  Antoine  is  disgraceful.  You  do  not 
mean ?  " 

"  No,  no.  I  am  content,  entirely.  Douglas  has 
found  something  to  admire,  you  see.  It  will  last  a 
few  hours  ;  but  even  so  it  is  the  greatest  good — the 
very  greatest  good." 

"  How  strange  you  are,"  Madame  murmured.  "  Is 
it  good-night  then  ?  " 

"  Good-bye.     I  am  riding  home  to-night." 

"  Riding  ?  "  The  Frenchwoman  absolutely  re- 
coiled. Mrs.  Archerson  smiled  again. 


200  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Only  five  miles — a  good  road,  and  perfect  star- 
light. I  will  catch  Philip  at  the  door."  Her  strong 
hand  grasped  Madame's.  "  Let  me  have  Tony  some- 
time for  Douglas,"  she  said  wistfully — and  went 
ahead. 

Madame's  eyes  followed  her  figure  thoughtfully, 
a  little  puzzled.  "  Tragic,"  she  reflected.  "  La  haute 
tragedie.  Am  I  losing  my  '  flair  '  in  these  days,  that 
I  could  have  placed  her  otherwise  ?  " 


IV 

IT  was  in  the  summer  term  that  Archerson  ran  away, 
marking  a  date  for  years  remembered  at  Radfield. 
The  whole  of  the  events  of  that  remarkable  term 
happened  in  the  last  few  weeks,  and  they  coincided 
with  the  coming  of  thunder  and  troubled  skies  after 
a  long  period  of  remarkably  lovely  weather. 

The  origin  of  many  of  the  difficulties  that  arose 
was  an  unusually  weak  head-boy.  Alexander  was 
perfectly  aware,  when  he  put  Drake  into  power,  that 
he  set  aside  one  or  two  better  candidates  ;  for  in  the 
clever  and  turbulent  Sixth  of  that  year,  Edgell  and 
Erskine  were  both  prominent  in  parties  ;  and  Mr. 
Alexander  refused  to  institute  partisan  government 
in  Radfield  at  whatever  cost.  Philip,  being  acute, 
and  knowing  his  youth  was  against  him,  never  really 
expected  the  place,  though  Glenmuir  and  others 
wept  over  him  at  Drake's  election.  He  did  not 
greatly  want  it  as  a  fact,  though  he  knew  himself  to 
be  an  excellent  official.  He  was  working  very  hard 
for  several  prizes,  notably  the  Falconer  Medal  Essay  : 
and  though  school  affairs  were  certainly  interesting, 
they  took  a  deal  of  valuable  time.  He  little  knew, 
as  he  thus  consoled  himself  and  his  friends,  what 
distraction  lay  in  front  of  him. 

Before  the  term  was  well  begun,  Archerson  fell 
out  badly  with  the  younger  section  of  the  Sixth. 
They  had  been  his  rivals  of  the  year  before,  and 
rose  to  power  at  the  time  when,  fighting  against 
much  protest  on  the  staff  but  without  the  least 

201 


202  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

hesitation,  Alexander  refused  to  promote  him.  Mr. 
Alexander  had  a  high  ideal  of  his  Sixth  Form,  and 
he  had  watched  Archerson's  character  carefully. 
Also,  Nick  was  very  young  and  very  delicate  :  and 
in  spite  of  his  brilliant  work,  there  was  abundant 
excuse  for  keeping  him  back  so  far  as  it  might  be 
done.  Such  things  can  be  managed  in  large  schools, 
even  though  Archerson  knew,  and  his  more  fortunate 
rivals  knew,  that  he  could  beat  them  on  their  own 
ground,  and  had  done  so  ten  times  over. 

Secretly  the  boy  revelled  in  his  position  of  irony, 
though  he  posed  as  a  martyr  very  cleverly.  It  did 
not  take  much  effort  to  keep  his  place  well  in  the  Fifth, 
and  with  all  his  reserve  force  he  set  himself  to  annoy 
those  just  above  him  in  every  way  he  could  ;  and 
such  ways,  for  Archerson,  were  manifold. 

The  troubles  of  that  little  world  often  reached 
Alexander's  ears,  and  none  can  say  how  much 
thought  he  gave  to  it  in  private.  But  he  was  very 
definite  in  public,  when  he  had  to  show  their  duties 
to  the  young  stewards  of  the  school.  "  You  are 
organised  with  this  in  view,"  he  practically  said. 
"  The  offices  are  filled  as  well  as  we  can  fill  them. 
It  is  your  affair,  not  mine,  and  you  must  work  out 
the  salvation  of  your  order  alone." 

The  best  of  the  boys,  whose  faith  in  him  was  sin- 
gularly firm,  strove  all  they  could  for  unity.  But 
the  party  cries  were  started,  jealousy  continually 
cropping  up,  and,  on  the  fringe,  anarchy  began  to 
cry  afar.  A  boy  like  Nick  Archerson  can  make  much 
for  anarchy,  for  his  tongue  has  regard  to  none. 
Reports  of  his  sayings,  sifting  down,  did  harm,  for 
he  had  strong  admirers  in  the  lower  school.  But  his 
contemporaries  of  the  brainless  order  suffered  most. 
Epigrams  and  epithets  are  so  prized  by  those  who 
find  any  opinion  of  their  own  hard  to  formulate  ; 
and  the  Fifth  Form,  seeing  themselves  in  the  light 


NICK  203 

of  Nick  Archerson,  began  to  think  themselves  very 
clever  indeed. 

Nick  had  Antoine  with  him  again  for  a  week  of 
the  holidays,  and  the  discoveries  Antoine  had  begun 
to  make  in  Nick's  mother  opened  out.  Even  when 
his  uncle  returned  from  abroad,  and  he  had  to  leave 
her  and  go  home,  he  still  turned  her  over  in  his  mind 
whenever  he  was  allowed  the  leisure  to  do  so.  Once 
she  wrote  to  him,  and  he  studied  the  letter  like  a 
curiosity,  and  kept  it,  as  eventually  turned  out,  for 
years.  There  was  a  degree  of  the  same  awakening 
attraction  in  Nick  himself  ;  sufficient,  at  any  rate,  to 
answer  Nick's  attraction  to  him.  For  as  time  went 
on  Archerson  did  not  loosen  his  clutch  on  Antoine 
by  any  means  ;  and  what  is  more,  he  kept  ceaseless 
watch  on  his  proceedings  with  others.  He  varied 
between  almost  pathetic  efforts  to  be  liked  by  the 
boy  he  had  chosen,  and  vengeful  attacks  on  those 
for  whom  he  showed  a  preference.  Unfortunately, 
Tony's  acquaintance  was  wide,  and  though  he 
made  no  other  close  friends,  he  associated  naturally 
with  plenty  among  his  equals,  liked  and  was  liked 
by  many  different  kinds.  But  there  was  no  single 
one  of  these  passing  friends — not  even  excepting 
the  headmaster's  dog — that  Archerson  considered 
beneath  his  notice  as  a  rival. 

Garett  was  one  of  the  first  on  whom,  in  this  appa- 
rently mysterious  fashion,  his  resentment  fell.  Now 
Garett's  association  with  Antoine  was  more  than 
half  pure  benevolence,  and  less  than  half  natural 
taste.  Antoine,  on  the  other  hand,  was  interested 
in  both  Percy  and  his  father  to  a  degree  which 
maddened  Archerson.  Garett  was  an  admirable  butt, 
and  he  dealt  with  him  continually,  until  Antoine 
was,  to  tell  the  truth,  a  little  bored. 

"  What  do  you  talk  about,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 
Nick  demanded  once,  when  Antoine  informed  him 


204  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

of  his  intention  to  go  home  with  Garett  for  a 
Sunday. 

Antoine  was  vague.     "  We  talk  many  things." 

"  But  what  ?  " 

"  Religion  sometimes,"  said  Tony  cheerfully. 
"  That  is  what  he  likes  the  most." 

"  You  mean,  you  let  him  pour  out  all  that  pious 
stuff  to  you  ?  I  suppose  he's  making  efforts  to 
convert  you." 

Tony  shrugged.  He  was  not  very  sure  what  con- 
version signified,  but  he  was  tired  of  the  subject. 
Garett  had  told  him  many  things  that  were  fasci- 
nating and  new  to  his  mind.  Garett  cherished 
delightful  ideas  of  travelling  in  distant  lands — plans 
of  which  he  talked  almost  with  passion  sometimes 
during  Sunday  strolls.  Exactly  what  he  intended 
to  do  there  Antoine' s  sympathetic  mind  had  not  yet 
accurately  gathered.  The  attractive  thing  was  the 
passion  itself  :  those  surging  feelings  which  matched 
Tony's  own,  and  which  reconciled  him  to  much  that 
was  difficult  and  peculiar  in  what  Garett  said  and 
thought. 

"  As  for  the  old  man,"  pursued  Archerson  bitterly, 
"  he's  cracked." 

"  Yes,"  Antoine  assented.  "  He  likes  music."  He 
had  noticed  the  two  things  frequently  went  together. 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it  ?  " 

;'  That  is  what  ?  " 

"  Why  you  are  so  precious  fond  of  him." 

Antoine  gazed  at  him.  "  I  am  not.  I  don't  know 
him  much.  Sometimes  he  never  talks  when  I  go 
there  :  but  sits  there  and  forgets  to  eat.  And  so 
Miss  Garett  spreads  him  some  butter  like  a  little  baby. 
It  is  curious."  Antoine  smiled  at  the  recollection. 

"  How  do  you  know  he's  musical  then  ?  " 

"  Because  Garett  says  that ;  and,"  Antoine  added, 
"  I  shall  play  to  him  to-morrow." 


NICK  205 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  wait  till  you're  asked  ?  " 

"  He  will  not  ask,  for  he  forgets.  He  is  a  very 
sad  man,"  said  Antoine,  "  and  he  sighs."  He  sighed 
himself.  "  He  will  like  the  violin,"  he  finished,  "  so 
I  shall  take  it — oh  yes." 

"You  are  the  rummest  kid,"  said  Archerson. 
"  Sometimes  I  don't  wonder  people  call  you 
conceited." 

But  he  was  only  diverted  for  a  minute  ;  and  he 
returned  to  the  charge  again  and  again,  openly  and 
by  more  subtle  means,  striving  against  the  very 
nature  of  the  boy  he  had  to  deal  with,  and  providing 
inevitably  for  his  own  ultimate  discomfiture. 

It  was  the  same  kind  of  jealousy  that  led  to  his 
broaching  his  greatest  secret  to  Antoine.  Archerson, 
for  all  his  boasted  frankness,  had  a  marvellous  power 
of  keeping  things  dark  when  he  chose,  and  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  naturally  have  disclosed  his 
intentions  with  regard  to  the  Falconer  Essay. 

Every  one  knew  that  he  wrote,  for  anonymous 
pieces  of  verse  and  prose  in  the  school  magazine  had 
long  been  traced  to  him.  Every  one  also  knew  that 
the  Falconer  was  nominally  open  to  the  Sixth  and 
Fifth  alike,  for  it  had  been  started  in  the  days  when 
the  school  was  small,  and  competition  far  less  keen 
than  now ;  but  it  was  the  rarest  thing  naturally  for  a 
Fifth  Form  boy  to  enter  the  lists  ;  and  this  year  the 
probabilities  were  more  than  usually  against  such 
entrance,  for  the  elite  of  the  school  was  of  the  '  cul- 
tured '  order,  and  rivalry  never  more  eager  than  at 
present.  That  Archerson  would  have  the  '  cheek  '  to 
compete  with  Erskine  and  Edgell  could  never  have 
been  suspected  by  the  supporters  of  either  of  those 
superior  gentlemen,  the  said  supporters  having  quite 
enough  to  do  "  backing  "  their  own  candidate  and 
pouring  scorn  on  the  opposition  camp.  But  his  own 
jealousy  was  the  one  passion  with  which  Archerson 


206  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

could  never  quite  reckon,  and  it  was  Tony's  most 
innocent  pride  in  his  brother  that  finally  tempted  the 
secret  out  of  him. 

The  pair  were  on  this  occasion  watching  a  cricket- 
match,  on  one  of  those  marvellous  May  afternoons 
that  nearly  persuaded  Archerson  to  the  beauty  of 
good-humour,  and  which  made  Tony  inclined  to  roll 
on  the  hot  field  like  a  young  puppy.  The  sun  and 
the  smell  of  the  short  growing  grass  seemed  literally 
to  intoxicate  him,  and  the  elder  boy  used  often  to 
grow  angry  out  of  doors  at  his  silliness  and  inconse- 
quence ;  above  all,  at  that  recurrent  little  chuckle  of 
sheer  rapture  that  seemed  to  bar  all  serious  argument, 
and  hold  it  afar  like  an  unwelcome  and  unnatural 
thing. 

Douglas  turned  his  back  on  the  players,  but  Antoine 
watched  now  and  then,  for  he  had  given  his  attention 
by  fits  and  starts  to  the  game  of  cricket  lately,  and  was 
curious  to  see  how  the  thing  should  be  handled  by 
those  who  knew.  Also,  Glenmuir  was  playing,  and 
Philip,  which  made  the  whole  affair  more  serious 
naturally  ;  and  the  earnest  attention  he  showed  at 
intervals  gave  nick  nearly  as  much  annoyance  as  his 
frivolity  in  between.  Tony's  interest  in  such  things 
was  in  Archerson' s  opinion  "  humbug."  It  could  not 
really  be  genuine,  and  was  probably  put  on  simply 
to  vex  him,  like  the  rest  of  his  ridiculous  behaviour. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  he  snapped  once,  as  the  boy 
made  a  little  sound  of  disappointment. 

"  Not  the  one  more  to  be  thirty,"  he  murmered. 
"  Now  perhaps  he  does  not  make  it." 

"  Who  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

He  nodded  towards  the  distant  white  figures. 
Douglas  glanced  over. 

"  Edgell,  is  it  ?     You  can't  see  the  score  from  here." 

"  No,  but  that  is  right,  I  think." 

'  You've  never  been  scoring,"  said  Archerson  with 


NICK  207 

supreme  disgust.  "  I  thought  you  were  listening  to 
me." 

"  I  have  listened,"  said  Antoine.  "  I  counted 
between  what  you  said." 

"  Edgell's  nothing  of  a  bat,"  said  Archerson,  taking 
the  first  charge  that  came  in  a  hurry.  "  Glenmuir's 
six  times  better." 

"  Glenmuir  is  very  good,  too,"  said  Tony  serenely. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  said  Archerson, 
nearly  laughing  in  spite  of  his  annoyance.  Tony 
laughed  too  instantly,  and  collapsed  on  his  back 
again  ;  for  Philip  had  been  caught  in  the  long  field, 
and  retired  at  twenty-nine. 

"  He  can't  be  so  very  good  as  Glenmuir,  when 
he  is  working  all  the  time,"  said  Antoine  presently, 
eating  grass. 

"  You  little  idiot.  He  doesn't  play  games  any  less 
for  working.  Besides,  he's  not  doing  anything  very 
extraordinary  as  far  as  I've  heard.  None  of  the  Sixth," 
said  Nick  compassionately,  "  know  what  real  brain- 
work  means." 

"  If  he  works  very  much,"  Tony  informed  him, 
"  then  he  shall  score  off  Erskine."  Antoine,  like  many 
of  the  lower  school,  took  a  side. 

"  Erskine's  no  good  at  science,"  said  Nick.  "  Why 
don't  you  talk  about  what  you  understand,  my  little 
boy  ?  " 

"  No,  no — it  is  not  science  ;  it  is  the  Romantic 
Revival  he  shall  write,"  said  Antoine,  whose  memory 
was  safe  for  such  details.  Philip  had  spoken  to  him 
of  the  Falconer  subject. 

Nick  started  rather. 

"  Oh,  that  rot,"  he  said.    There  was  a  pause. 

"  I  shall  not  put  about  that  in  my  letters,"  pursued 
Antoine,  "  because  he  shall  not  tell  papa  till  he  gets 
it,  do  you  see  ?  " 

Archerson  laughed  grimly. 


2o8  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  He  seems  to  make  jolly  certain  of  getting  it,"  he 
said. 

"  I  think  he  does,"  said  Antoine.  "  You  see,  Erskine 
does  not  know  so  much  about  French  history  as  him." 
It  was  fortunate  indeed  that  the  distant  Philip  could 
not  hear  this  nai've  disclosure. 

"  Pooh,"  said  Archerson  ;  then — "  I  suppose  you 
think  you're  bound  to  back  him,  don't  you  ?  Sup- 
pose I  was  in  for  the  Falconer,  Tony — would  you 
back  me  ?  " 

"  You  are  not,"  said  Antoine,  who  was  lending 
some  attention  to  the  cricket  again. 

Douglas  considered  him  a  minute  with  set  lips. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  gruffly,  "  I  am  going  to  try 
for  it,  as  it  happens,  but  you  needn't  mention  it." 

The  boy  swung  himself  up  on  his  hands  and  turned. 
All  his  attention  was  Archerson' s  on  the  instant. 

"  You — have  written  it  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"  It's  not  written,  but  it's  all  there.  I've  read  the 
subject  up  long  ago — French  and  all."  Archerson's 
lip  curled.  "  Of  course,  Edgell  major's  a  mighty 
authority — but  I  don't  think  he  knows  more  than  I 
do,  much."  He  paused. 

Antoine  still  stared  at  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Nick,  sardonically.  "  Come  and 
back  me,  Tony." 

"  But  I  can't,"  cried  Antoine,  "  now.  Oh  !  "—he 
struck  the  grass.  "  Why  did  you  tell  me  ?  "  It  was 
a  cry  almost  of  pain,  as  he  dropped  prone  again  with 
his  head  on  his  arm. 

Nick  put  his  hand  round  the  back  of  his  neck, 
pinning  him  with  his  fingers.  "  I  shall  get  it,"  he 
murmured  between  his  teeth,  "  I  shall  get  it.  You'll 
have  to  back  me — I'll  make  you."  The  grip  of  his 
fingers  was  almost  cruel  about  the  boy's  neck. 

Presently  he  desisted. 

"What's  the  matter,  Tony  ? "  he  muttered.   "  Don't 


NICK  209 

you  see,  if  I  get  the  Falconer,  they  can't  help  pro- 
moting me.  I  won't  stand  another  year  in  the  Fifth — 
I  simply  won't  stand  it.  I  know  I'm  not  as  old  yet 
as  the  youngest  of  them — the  idiots.  I  know  that 
humbug  Alexander  will  keep  me  down  if  he  can  :  find 
some  beastly  plausible  reason — I  know  him.  They've 
all  got  a  spite  on  me.  He's  made  me  look  a  fool  for 
a  year — but  I'll  make  him  look  a  fool  instead,  I  will. 
Don't  you  see,  you  little  donkey" — Nick  gripped  him 
again — "  how  much  more  important  it  is  for  me  than 
for  Edgell  ? — how  it's  necessary — how  it  must  be — 
how  it  will  be  ?  Think  of  me,  Tony — me,  not  him. 
Why  should  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

The  boy  stopped,  absolutely  panting  in  his  eager- 
ness. 

Presently  Antoine  came  to  life  slowly  and  rose. 
But  he  looked  pale,  with  his  curious  power  for  such 
rapid  change. 

"  You  will  get  it,"  he  said  simply.  "  Yes,  of  course, 
I  know  that.  But — I  am  sorry  that  I  know  it — that's 

an." 

"  You  do  know  it,  do  you  ?  "  said  Archerson,  half 
in  triumph  :  only  half,  for  he  saw  where  the  boy  was 
looking.  "  Of  course,"  he  added  pleasantly,  "  if  you 
speak  about  it,  I  shall  kill  you.  I  shall  keep  it  as 
dark  as  the  grave  till  the  lists  come  out.  You'll  have 
to  hold  your  tongue." 

The  nervous  line  came  into  Antoine' s  brow  as  he 
gazed  across  the  field.  He  greatly  disliked  having  to 
hold  his  tongue.  It  meant  perpetual  worry — much 
thinking — some  dreaming,  no  doubt,  as  time  went 
on.  Why  had  Nick  told  him  this  thing  ? 

He  watched  Philip,  and  thought  of  him  as  he  had 
been  yesterday,  when  he  had  helped  him  look  up 
some  French  references  in  the  library,  a  very  happy 
half-hour,  during  which  he  had  been  honoured  by 
some  confidence,  and  called  a  useful  kid.  What  was 

o 


210  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

the  use  now  of  those  pages  of  beautiful  little  notes  ? 
Nick  would  get  the  medal ;  he  wished  he  was  not  so 
certain,  but  there  was  the  fact  before  his  eyes. 

So  he  sat  there,  while  Archerson,  once  more  secure 
in  his  mastery,  pursued  his  usual  caustic  commen- 
tary on  persons  and  affairs  ;  and  the  sun  looked  differ- 
ent, and  Tony  had  no  wish  at  all  to  roll  on  the  field. 
It  was  odd  how  a  few  words  from  Nick  sometimes 
could  have  this  transforming  effect. 

After  the  match,  Archerson  demanded  to  be  played 
to  in  the  gymnasium,  as  usual  on  a  half-holiday.  The 
gymnasium  was  a  magnificent  room  for  sound,  better 
than  the  hall,  and  ten  times  better  than  the  so-called 
music-room.  Also  the  veteran  sergeant  who  kept 
the  key  was  not  implacable,  especially  to  Tony 
Edgell.  It  only  needed  to  choose  the  moment,  and 
the  right  form  of  persuasion  to  suit  it.  But  to-day 
Antoine  would  neither  beg,  nor  flatter,  nor  play. 
He  was  obstinate,  and  Nick  grew  furious  with  him, 
and  they  had  something  that  approached  a  real 
quarrel.  The  strain  was  as  usual  far  greater  on  the 
one  than  the  other,  for  Nick  had  the  disposition  for 
anger,  and  Tony  had  not.  He  struggled  fiercely  for 
a  time,  but  he  was  easily  tired  out.  Long  since 
Archerson  had  learnt  how  to  play  him,  and  how  to 
tire  him.  The  victory  was  always  his  so  easily,  that 
it  hardly  seemed  worth  the  winning. 

The  Falconer  Essays  had  to  be  given  to  Mr.  Fan- 
shawe  by  July  the  first.  Mr.  Fanshawe  was  acting 
for  Mr.  Alexander  in  collecting  the  papers,  having 
demanded  with  rather  fussy  benevolence  to  save  the 
headmaster,  already  overweighted  by  a  multitude 
of  anxieties,  the  slight  added  responsibility  that  the 
guardianship  of  the  prize  essays  entailed.  Alexander 
as  usual  had  showed  an  unaccountable  unwillingness 
to  part  with  the  smallest  duty  which  he  regarded  as 


NICK  2ii 

under  his  own  department,  for  Mr.  Fanshawe's  efforts 
to  '  spare  '  the  younger  man  who  ruled  Radfield  were 
always,  in  his  opinion,  met  with  the  same  veiled  un- 
graciousness. The  headmaster,  when  he  gave  in, 
explained  rather  nervously  to  his  colleague  the  provi- 
sions, laid  down  by  the  literary  founder  who  was  also 
the  judge,  which  guarded  the  Falconer  entries  from 
publicity.  Some  names  were  apt  naturally  to  become 
open  secrets  in  the  school,  as  Erskine's  and  Edgell's 
had  done,  but  the  rule  stood  nevertheless,  as  a  protec- 
tion to  the  shyer  genius  which  may  be  presumed  to  lurk 
in  large  communities.  Mr.  Fanshawe  smiling  eternally 
at  the  man,  promised  discretion,  and  formally  re- 
ceived the  charge.  It  became  a  little  hard  neverthe- 
less, as  time  went  on,  not  to  talk  about  his  opinions  in 
the  matter,  especially  as  his  affections  became  slightly 
involved.  Except  the  Upper  Sixth  Form,  reserved 
to  himself  by  Alexander,  he  taught  English  in  the 
upper  school,  and  he  naturally  had  his  private  pre- 
ferences among  the  names  that  figured  on  the  list. 
These  amounted  to  some  half  dozen,  including  those 
of  the  two  elder  boys  whose  rivalry  held  the  public 
attention. 

Of  these,  Erskine,  a  business-like  young  Colonial, 
of  whom  Mr.  Fanshawe  was  fond,  and  with  whose 
Imperial  and  rather  sentimental  political  opinions 
Mr.  Fanshawe  found  himself  warmly  in  sympathy, 
brought  in  his  paper  early,  discussed  it  in  modest 
fashion  with  the  master,  and  said  he  might  read  it  if 
he  cared  to  do  so,  which  naturally  Mr.  Fanshawe 
did.  Edgell  kept  his,  toying  with  it  lovingly,  until 
June  the  twenty-eighth  ;  when  he  thought  it  might 
be  more  dignified  to  part  with  it,  and  left  it,  with  an 
air  of  indifference,  last  thing  at  night  as  he  passed 
Fanny's  door  on  his  way  to  bed.  Mr.  Fanshawe, 
who  privately  considered  Erskine's  essay  wonderful, 
just  glanced  at  the  motto  of  Hugo  that  stood  at  the 


212  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

head  of  Philip's  minute  manuscript,  and  then  put  it 
away  in  some  haste.  He  said  to  himself  as  he  did 
so,  that  it  was  ridiculously  long,  and  that  rhetoric 
for  schoolboys  was  a  snare. 

The  day  after  that,  a  half-holiday,  Archerson  was 
summoned  before  the  headmaster  in  the  afternoon 
to  answer  for  an  outbreak  in  a  special  class,  in  the 
course  of  which  he  had  insulted  two  of  the  Lower 
Sixth,  and  had  been  struck  by  one  of  them. 

Mr.  Alexander  said  that  he  was  only  thankful  that 
such  intemperate  behaviour  had  an  origin  outside 
his  upper  form  ;  and  that  if  Archerson  wished  to 
indulge  in  acts  of  the  kind,  it  could  evidently  not  be 
as  one  of  the  responsible  members  of  the  school ; 
and  that  he  hoped  he  would  see  fit  before  night  to 
apologise  to  Jerrard  and  Home,  and  also  to  the  master 
whose  class  had  been  interrupted. 

Archerson  said  nothing  at  all,  but  he  looked  grim 
when  he  issued  from  the  interview. 

Here  indeed  was  a  handy  excuse  for  the  great  and 
just  powers  that  ruled  Radfield  for  depriving  him  of 
his  coveted  remove.  He  had  never  admitted  in  full 
to  any  mortal,  except  in  those  few  passionate  words 
to  Antoine,  how  he  longed  for  the  comparative 
freedom  which,  under  Alexander's  jurisdiction, 
arrival  at  the  Sixth  Form  entailed.  "  Independence" 
meant  a  great  deal  to  Nick  Archerson,  and  it  was 
the  strongest  weapon  in  the  hands  of  the  authority 
arrayed  against  him,  that  they  had  this  liberty  to 
dispose  of. 

Nick  regarded  himself  calmly  as  the  sworn 
opponent  of  humbugging  authority  ;  and  the  ques- 
tion before  him  now,  as  he  stood  and  gloomed  at 
his  window,  the  finished  essay  in  his  hands,  was  one 
of  tactics  simply.  Should  he  send  it  in,  or  should 
he  not  ?  It  was  too  good  for  the  humbugs,  after  all. 
Where  was  the  use  of  asserting  his  intellect,  the 


NICK  213 

mere  skill  of  thought,  after  the  way  Alexander  had 
lately  treated  him  ?  Should  he  abandon  the  prize  ? 
No  one  knew  of  the  essay's  existence,  except  Tony, 
who,  Nick  suspected,  would  be  only  too  thankful  if 
he  did.  He  had  shown  it  completed  to  Antoine 
some  days  before,  and  had  teased  him  with  it,  for  the 
boy  seemed  unaccountably  to  dislike  the  mention 
and  sight  of  the  paper,  shying  from  the  whole  sub- 
ject with  a  kind  of  terror  which  caused  Nick  both 
entertainment  and  gratification.  He  had  then  de- 
clared pleasantly  that  he  had  changed  his  mind  in 
the  matter  of  competing,  that  it  was  too  good  for  the 
Falconer,  and  that  he  meant  instead  to  send  it  to  a 
magazine,  which  had  already  taken  one  of  his  anony- 
mous articles.  The  boy's  relief  and  eagerness  were 
plain  to  witness,  and  Nick  had  mocked  his  credulity 
at  leisure.  He  was  not  quite  sure  indeed  if  he  had 
not  overdone  it  a  little,  for  Tony  had  avoided  him 
since,  in  a  manner  which  he  no  doubt  considered 
inconspicuous. 

It  was  true  enough  that  Nick  was  finding  the 
thought  of  parting  with  the  essay  hard  ;  for  during 
the  month  he  had  nursed  it  by  him  it  seemed  to 
have  become  a  part  of  himself.  Beyond  this,  he  had 
a  vast  contempt  for  Mr.  Fanshawe,  into  whose 
hands  he  had  realised  that  his  offspring  would  be 
confided.  He  knew  the  rule  of  secrecy  that  guarded 
the  competition,  of  course,  but  Fanny  was  such  a 
confounded  gossip !  Suppose  he  should  drop  a 
hint  that  Nick  was  in,  and  then  Nick  should  by 
any  chance  fail  to  score.  His  savage  pride  and 
shyness  rose  against  the  idea.  Really  he  began  to 
wish  he  had  never  thought  of  trying  at  all  for  the 
wretched  thing,  it  caused  him  so  much  vexation  of 
mind. 

And  then — his  eyes  dropped  on  the  writing,  fruit 
of  such  long  and  secret  labour.  Ah,  but  it  was  good  : 


214  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

something  warmed  him  through  as  he  read.  Com- 
position was  Nick's  real  life  ;  inside  and  outside  he 
never  ceased  composing  ;  he  scarcely  spoke  a  sen- 
tence without  preparing  it  first.  Words  haunted 
him,  he  loved  them  ;  and  more  the  ideas  which  lie 
just  beyond  the  reach  of  words,  the  ideas  to  which 
his  brain  seemed  softly  reaching  always,  as  though 
with  delicate  feelers  unseen. 

He  could  not  waste  all  that — he  just  could  not  do 
it.  He  must  see  the  look  on  their  faces,  hear  the 
headmaster's  voice  when — after  treating  the  author 
like  a  child  so  long,  after  rating  and  ignoring  him 
like  one — he  had  to  read  his  name  highest  on  the 
Falconer  list  of  the  year,  over  the  heads  of  those 
precious  jewels  of  his,  the  Radfield  Sixth  Form.  It 
would  make  a  difference  to  his  chances  too,  small 
doubt  of  that.  Alexander  would  change  front  a 
trifle  when  he  had  no  longer  the  rebel  Archerson  to 
deal  with,  but  the  winner  of  the  Falconer.  Yes,  it 
would  be  a  moment  well  worth  waiting  for,  worth 
going  through  something  first  to  reach.  As  to  the 
apology  demanded  of  him — that  might  wait  over  a 
bit.  If  he  did  apologise,  it  would  be  at  his  own 
time,  not  Alexander's.  He  was  not  going  to  be  tied 
to  hours,  like  a  kid  in  the  Second  Form.  He  was  not 
sure  it  might  not  be  rather  advantageous  to  submit 
and  lie  low,  all  things  considered,  till  his  big  effect 
came  off. 

Besides,  Archerson  had  an  idea  he  could  manage 
to  humble  himself  to  Jerrard  and  Home  without 
much  waste  of  pride.  He  knew  them  of  old,  after 
all :  there  are  ways  to  do  such  things,  with  fools  like 
that.  Nick's  eyes  glowed,  and  his  lips  took  the 
satiric  line  as  he  smiled.  Fools  and  humbugs,  he 
could  place  them  all ;  each  had  his  niche,  and 
Alexander  the  highest  and  most  prominent.  After 
all,  what  he  had  said  in  class  was  true  enough — 


NICK  215 

though  the  fellows  had  happened  to  wish  to  keep  it 
from  the  public  ear.  What  humbugs  people  were  ! 
His  eyes  dropped  to  the  paper  again.  Yes,  it 
should  go  in,  before  the  hours  of  June  quite  ran  out ; 
then  a  few  more  weeks  of  waiting,  nursing  his  secret : 
and  then — the  glow  he  had  felt  mounted  to  his  head 
— then  for  the  thunder-clap. 

At  the  very  word,  a  rumble  of  real  thunder  reached 
him,  evidently  from  some  distant  quarter  of  the 
heavens,  for  the  sky  was  clear.  The  sun  shone 
curiously,  though,  to-day,  Archerson  noticed,  gazing 
out.  It  would  be  rather  odd  if  the  weather  broke 
now,  at  the  very  end  of  the  perfect  month.  He 
rather  hoped  there  would  be  a  storm,  a  good  one. 
It  would  suit  his  need  for  excitement  very  well ;  and 
he  could  tease  young  Tony,  who  hated  it. 


"  WHAT'S  the  matter  with  little  Edgell  ?  Has  any 
one  been  ragging  him  ?  "  It  was  Mr.  Johnstone 
who  asked  the  question,  entering  the  common-room 
that  same  Wednesday  evening,  rather  late  for  tea. 
He  addressed  the  master  of  the  Second  Form,  one  of 
the  two  who  still  lingered  by  the  table. 

"  Fanshawe  was  telling  us,"  said  Mr.  Reeves. 
"  Really  a  most  extraordinary  tale." 

"  Hullo,  Fanshawe.  You've  not  been  at  him 
again  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Mr.  Fanshawe,  who 
greatly  wished  some  of  his  colleagues  would  forget 
a  certain  incident,  which  was  really  not  particularly 
humorous.  "  The  matter  is  simply,  if  you  want  to 
know,  that  the  boy's  a  coward." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Johnstone.  "  What's  he  afraid 
of— you  ?  " 

"  It's  no  joke,  really,"  murmured  little  Mr.  Reeves. 
He  turned  with  added  respect  to  Mr.  Fanshawe. 
"  But  the  point  about  Garett  is  certainly  interesting. 
One  always  had  an  idea  that  Garett  was  something 
out  of  the  common." 

"The boy  has  a  sort  of  genius,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe 
earnestly,  "  before  which,  at  times,  I  can  only  think 
it  right  to  bow.  It  swayed  me  to-day,  as  I  have 
shown.  It  may  be  my  weakness — I  cannot  say. 
Not  your  erratic  genius — far  from  that.  Something 
more  rare — er,  more  subtle — ah,  infinitely  more 

quiet.    It  makes  one  think  of " 

216 


NICK  217 

Mr.  Fanshawe  would  have  been  in  metaphor  in 
another  moment,  only  the  lengthy  Mr.  Johnstone 
on  the  hearth  turned  round.  "  Garett's  a  good  boy," 
he  said.  "  Granted.  May  I  have  the  story,  if  it's 
not  a  bore.  I'm  getting  curious." 

Mr.  Fanshawe  spread  himself  in  his  easy  chair. 

"It's  only  a  little  incident,  but  I  find  it  interesting 
as  character.  I  was  sketching  it  to  Reeves  when 
you  came  in.  I  was  walking  with  Garett  this  after- 
noon, as  I  wished  to  have  some  quiet  conversation 
with  him.  We  went  over  Highbury  Edge,  and 
came  back  down  the  short  cut  by  the  quarries.  The 
storm  came  up  so  rapidly,  you  know,  that  I  really 
thought  it  might  be  more  prudent  not  to  come 
through  the  wood  ;  besides,  I  was  quite  in  a  hurry 
to  get  my  young  gentleman  home,  as  he  had  no 
coat :  one  could  not  have  foretold  such  a  rapid 
change.  The  lightning  was  beautiful  from  the  hill, 
and  it  was  right  overhead  by  the  time  we  got  to  the 
upper  gate  off  the  moor.  It  was  just  there,  below 
the  gate,  that  we  came  upon  the  other  boys." 

"  Who  ?  " 

"  Edgell  minor  and  two  of  the  Lower  Sixth.  He  was 
terrified  out  of  his  wits,  and  they  were  teasing  him." 

"  What  was  he  frightened  of  ?  "  asked  Johnstone 
quickly. 

"The  thunder— if  you'll  believe  it.  At  first  I 
thought  the  boys  had  been  ill-treating  him — Jerrard 
is  rather  a  bully  at  times.  But  it  was  nothing  of 
the  sort.  They  were  simply  laughing  :  and  I  don't 
wonder.  The  boy  was  almost  beside  himself  with 
pure  panic,  you  never  saw  anything  like  it." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  told  them  all  to  shut  up  and  come  along,  for 
the  rain  was  coming  on,  and  that  path  soon  gets 
slippery  in  the  wet." 

"  Well,"    said   Mr.    Johnstone,    as   the   narrator 


218  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

paused.  "  What  happened  ?  Didn't  he  come  ?  " 
He  was  leaning  his  great  arms  on  the  chimney-piece, 
and  watching  Mr.  Fanshawe  with  narrowed  eyes. 

"  The  boy  defied  me.  He  simply  and  flatly  refused 
to  move.  He  used  some  extraordinary  expressions, 
to  which  I  paid  no  attention.  He  has  been  imperti- 
nent to  me  before  now,  and  there  are  moods  in 
which  I  think  it  best  not  to  notice  him — since  notice 
is  what  he  desires.  The  boys  laughed,  which  did 
not  surprise  me.  Home  and  Jerrard  offered  to 
carry  him,  but  I  thought  it  too  ridiculous.  I  told 
him  he  might  follow  or  not  as  he  liked,  and  I  took 
the  others  on." 

;'  To  the  farm,"  Mr.  Reeves  suggested. 

"  Yes.  It's  only  half  a  mile  beyond  that.  I  knew 
Edgell  would  stop  acting  if  I  left  him  no  audience 
to  act  to." 

Mr.  Reeves  laughed.  "That's  good,"  he  said. 
"  I  should  never  have  thought  of  that." 

"  I  know  the  boy  a  little,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe 
modestly. 

"Well,"  said  his  friend.  "Now  about  Garett. 
Do  go  on." 

"  Garett,  Johnstone,  was  most  unwilling  to  come 
with  us  :  I  could  see  that.  He  has  the  best  heart  in 
the  world,  and  Edgell's  hysterics  had  impressed  him. 
He  came  on  with  us  as  far  as  the  farm,  and  then  he 
stopped  dead.  He  told  me,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe, 
with  slow  effect,  "  that  he  was  going  back.  Just 
lifted  his  eyes,  and  said  it  to  my  face." 

"Did  he  ?  "  said  Mr.  Johnstone  absently.  "  Sur- 
prising." 

"  It  was — for  I  know  how  shy  he  is.  It  is  an 
enormous  effort  to  him  to  do  a  thing  like  that,  and 
in  front  of  the  others.  Home  and  Jerrard  are  not  a 
specially  safe  audience  either,  and  would  be  bound 
to  talk." 


NICK  219 

"  Did  you  refuse  to  let  him  go  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  I  told  him  he  was  not  to  be  non- 
sensical— I  was  quite  severe.  I  knew  what  it  was 
well  enough  ;  he  has  taken  so  to  heart  something  I 
once  said  to  him  about  taking  charge  of  Edgell : 
long  since,  when  he  was  quite  a  new  boy,  and  hardly 
knew  the  ropes.  But  now — his  third  term — really  ! 

"  He  knows  as  much  as  Garett,"  the  form-master 
murmured,  "  and  a  long  sight  more.  Garett  can't 
teach  him  much." 

"  Just  so.  Well  the  rain  was  a  bit  less,  and  when 
we'd  waited  ten  minutes  or  so,  I  thought  we  had 
better  get  on,  so  I  took  them  out  to  the  gate.  Blest," 
said  Mr.  Fanshawe,  with  a  fist  on  the  table,  "  if  the  boy 
Garett  didn't  turn  right  round  at  the  gate,  and  set  off 
back  up  the  hill.  Against  my  express  command  !  " 

He  looked  triumphantly  at  Mr.  Johnstone.  The 
point  was  certainly  dramatic. 

"  Well— I  laughed.  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  told  the 
other  boys  to  do  as  they  liked,  and  I  followed  Mr. 
Percy  at  a  safe  distance — stalked  him  in  fact.  I  am 
really  quite  curious  about  the  fellow  sometimes.  He 
has  got  hold  of  some  of  his  father's  peculiar  ideas — 
as  well  as  the  conscience  of  a  martyr.  It  was  no 
fun  going  up.  The  rain  was  in  my  face,  and  the 
path  as  bad  walking  as  I've  ever  known  it.  Where 
the  ways  divide  at  the  quarries  I  lost  him  utterly.  It 
took  ever  so  much  longer  than  I  meant,  kicking  and 
slipping  among  the  stones  in  that  abominable  place, 
before  I  came  upon  them  at  last — both  of  them." 

"  Where  ?  "  said  the  auditor. 

"  Close  to  the  quarry  itself.  I  had  a  shock,  I  can 
tell  you,  when  I  saw  how  near  Edgell  had  got.  I 
suppose  he  struck  the  wrong  path,  or  lost  his  head 
or  something." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Johnstone,  "  you  said  it  was 
lost  when  you  left  him." 


220  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  The  path  ?  " 

"No— his  head." 

"  Oh — don't  joke,  Johnstone.  I'm  really  serious 
about  this.  It  was  dangerous." 

"  What  was  he  doing  ?  " 

"  He  was  down  on  his  face — crying,  I  think  ;  and 
that  young  saint  Garett  kneeling  beside  him." 

"  Preaching  ?  " 

"  That's  a  hard  word.  Exhorting,  I  should  say  : 
quite  the  gentlest  form  of  reason.  Not  but  what  he 
said  some  striking  things,  in  his  childish  way.  I  was 
almost  ashamed  to  stand  there  listening — a  young 
thing  like  that."  Mr.  Fanshawe  cleared  his  throat. 
"  Ah  well,  he  will  be  an  interesting  man.  He  has  a 
steadier  head  than  his  father,  and  quite  as  strong  a 
will.  That — aha  ! — I  proved  to-day." 

"  Did  you  show  up  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did,  after  a  time.  It  seemed  too  bad 
to  spy  upon  them.  Besides,  the  little  boy  hardly 
knew  what  he  was  saying,  and  was  distressing  Percy." 
Mr.  Fanshawe  nodded  to  himself.  "  Curious  business 
altogether." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Did  Edgell  talk  at  all,"  asked  Mr.  Johnstone, 
stretching  his  arms  along  the  chimney-piece  and 
clutching  the  extreme  ends,  "  about  Archerson  ?  " 

Both  the  men  turned  round  and  stared  amaze- 
ment. 

"How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  have  known  for  some  time.  He  has  got  him  on 
the  brain.  He  is  in  a  highly  nervous  state,  that  kid. 
Did  you  know  he  had  been  walking  in  his  sleep  ?  " 

"No!" 

"  Miss  Fen  wick  mentioned  that.  She  caught  him 
in  the  passage  just  awake,  and  not  the  least  knowing 
where  he  was.  She  said  he  declared  he  must  tell  her 
something  about  Archerson,  because  Archerson  had 


NICK  221 

said  he  musn't.  She  laughed  at  him  and  put  him 
back  into  bed.  That  was  some  nights  ago." 

"  How  exceedingly  odd,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe.  He 
seemed  struck. 

"  What  a  coincidence,"  said  Mr.  Reeves.  "  Now 
you  really  must  tell  Johnstone,  Fanshawe." 

"  I  think  I  really  must."  He  turned  to  his  col- 
league. "  Edgell  told  Garett  in  my  hearing  that 
Archerson  was  entered  for  the  Falconer.  He  said 
he  must  tell  him,  in  just  the  same  frantic  way.  It 
struck  me  all  of  a  heap,  because  I  have  had  no  sign 
of  an  entry  from  Archerson.  I  wonder  if  the  boy's 
deluded." 

"  Deluded  or  not,"  said  Johnstone  decidedly,  "  he 
ought  to  be  separated  from  that  dangerous  boy.  It 
has  been  increasingly  bad  for  him,  and  if  he  is  not 
there  will  be  a  breakdown.  I  never  saw  anything 
like  his  looks  when  he  came  to  me  this  evening. 
I've  a  great  mind  to  go  to  Alexander." 

"  Oh  lord,  don't  bother  Alexander,"  said  Reeves, 
"  He's  had  enough  to-day  with  that  row  in  the 
Lower  Sixth." 

Mr.  Fanshawe  knew  nothing  of  the  row  referred 
to.  Nor  did  he  wish  attention  diverted  from  his 
own  incident.  He  recalled  them  to  it  gently. 

"  I  make  allowances  for  Edgell,  of  course  ;  but 
there  are  limits.  He  does  not  make  the  smallest 
attempt  to  control  himself,  and  really  he  lays  him- 
self out  to  be  teased." 

"Then  he  was  teased?"  said  Antoine's  form- 
master. 

"  I  don't  know.  Home  and  Jerrard  were  still 
hanging  about  when  we  got  to  the  farm.  But  they 
didn't  get  at  him  again,  or  Garett  either — I  took  care 
of  that.  I  brought  them  on  with  me.  They  are 
not,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe,  "  really  bad  fellows.  I 
often  say  the  old-fashioned  bully  does  not  exist." 


222  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  How  did  the  kids  get  home  then  ?  " 

"  As  luck  would  have  it,' the  cart  was  coming  down. 
So  Mrs.  Mowatt  insisted  on  drying  the  boys — Edgell 
was  sopping  wet,  of  course — and  sending  them  after 
us.  I  was  glad  enough  to  arrange  it  so.  As  it 
turned  out,  they  were  hardly  later  than  we  were.  I 
hope  they  will  be  none  the  worse." 

The  giant  on  the  hearth  had  no  comment,  although 
the  story  was  finished.  Mr.  Reeves — who  was  rather 
elated  at  having  two  such  characters  in  his  own  form 
— made  the  proper  remarks,  and  then  took  himself 
away. 

A  short  silence  ensued  on  his  departure  ;  Mr. 
Fanshawe  sat  and  speculated. 

"  I  say,  Johnstone.  Suppose  the  boy  actually 
means  to  compete,  it  would  be  rather  interesting.  I 
may  be  wrong  ;  but,  personally,  I  do  not  believe 
Edgell — Edgell  major — would  have  a  chance  against 
Archerson.  At  any  rate,  it  would  be  quite  interest- 
ing. There  are  only  a  couple  of  days  more  ;  he'll 
have  to  hurry  up." 

"  If  it  is  true,"  said  Johnstone ;  "  it  is  a  secret,  hey  ?  " 

Mr.  Fanshawe  laughed. 

"  The  secret  is  out.  Quite  like  that  French  boy 
to  blurt  it  out  to  all  comers." 

"  Hum,"  said  Johnstone,  considering.  Miss 
Fen  wick — whom  he  didn't  tell ;  Garett — whom  he 
did.  Garett  is  absolutely  safe." 

He  was  a  little  crushing,  certainly.  Considering 
his  position,  Mr.  Fanshawe  thought,  hejnight  pay 
a  little  more  heed  to  the  form  of  his  words.  Size 
was  not  everything  in  this  world  :  though  allowance 
has  been  made  for  the  blundering  of  giants  before 
now.  Mr.  Fanshawe  reared  his  head  and  folded  his 
lips.  "  Discretion,"  he  said,  "  in  all  departments  of 
school  life,  is  always  necessary." 

Mr.   Johnstone  chose  to  add  : 


NICK  223 

"  Especially  with  Douglas  Archerson." 

Mr.  Fanshawe,  passing  Archerson's  room  towards 
supper-time  the  next  evening,  found  him  just  come 
in  and  gazing  out  of  the  window.  He  paused  a 
minute,  then  he  decided  to  enter. 

"  Ha,  Archerson,"  he  observed,  as  the  boy  swung 
to  him  with  an  unpromising  scowl.  "It  merely 
struck  me  to  observe  in  passing  that  it  is  the  thirtieth 
day  of  June." 

He  had  a  pleasant,  roguish  expression,  calculated 
to  appease  the  young  bear  he  addressed.  Archerson 
did  not  seem  appeased.  He  scowled  a  little  more. 

"  I — hardly  understand,"    he  grunted. 

"  Don't  you  ?  I  merely  thought  you  might  have 
mistaken  the  day,  and  felt  it  well  to  warn  you. 
Excuse,"  smiled  Mr.  Fanshawe,  nodding  brightly, 
"  the  intrusion,  I  beg." 

As  the  boy  merely  stared  motionless,  after  a 
minute  or  so  the  master  retired.  Really  one  might 
hazard  a  guess  that  the  little  donkey  Edgell  had  been 
deluded  after  all  ;  deluded — or  raving.  However, 
he  had  not  committed  himself.  He  walked  away. 

Archerson,  left  alone,  went  back  to  the  window. 

It  was  out,  then,  was  it  ?  He  would  never  tell 
Tony  anything  again.  He  would  let  him  have  it, 
the  little  sneak.  He  would  get  hold  of  him  after 
supper  and  tell  him  what  he  thought — everything 
that  he  thought.  He  would 

Yes,  but  the  paper  had  better  go  in  first.  Suppose 
he  should  be  hindered  later.  Suppose  Alexander 
should  summon  him.  He  had  not  yet  "  seen  fit  "  to 
apologise  to  those  fellows,  and  there  was  an  ominous 
silence  at  head-quarters.  He  rather  enjoyed  the 
attitude  of  rebellion — but  still,  the  question  of  the 
essay  was  serious.  That  fool  of  a  man  was  right. 
He  had  better  take  it  in  at  once,  and  get  it  over. 


224  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

He  went  to  his  desk,  unlocked,  opened,  and  rum- 
maged it.  He  looked  again  and  again,  quite  fran- 
tically, the  dull  colour  leaping  to  his  face,  his  pulses 
thumping  heavily.  But  it  was  useless  to  look,  for 
the  essay  was  not  there. 

Mr.  Johnstone  and  Mr.  Fanshawe  both  stopped 
to  have  coffee  with  the  headmaster  that  evening. 
Each  badly  wished  the  other  away,  and  each  tried 
to  sit  the  other  out.  Mr.  Alexander  had  hardly 
leisure  to  be  amused  by  their  tactics,  for  he  was 
much  worried  by  affairs  in  the  school,  and  longed 
earnestly  to  be  left  alone. 

Johnstone  told  him  about  the  sleep-walking  finally, 
seeing  no  other  way,  and  succeeded  materially  in 
adding  to  his  harassed  expression.  He  then  pro- 
pounded his  theory  about  Edgell  and  Archerson 
simply,  and  with  some  ingenuity  of  phrasing  ;  at  any 
rate,  it  captured  Mr.  Alexander's  distracted  attention. 

"  Face  them  with  one  another,"  said  Mr.  John- 
stone,  when  he  seemed  sceptical,  "and  you'll  see. 
It's  going  too  far,  sir,  I  give  you  my  word." 

"  You  are  a  great  bore,  vous  autres,  with  your 
minute  observations,"  said  the  headmaster.  "  I 
don't  know  which  is  the  worst  of  the  lot  of  you.  I 
can't  lug  boys  apart  when  they  will  get  together. 
It's  what  Price  calls  affinities — it's  past  praying  over. 
Eh,  Fanshawe  ?  " 

Mr.  Fanshawe  did  not  care  for  the  expression 
used,  but  he  agreed  sedately.  The  two  boys  in 
question  were  both  eccentric  and  ill-balanced, 
beyond  a  doubt. 

"  But  the  difference  in  age,"  Johnstone  protested. 

"  In  some  ways  Tony's  older  than  his  age,"  said 
Alexander. 

Fanshawe  glanced  at  him  with  disapproval ;  he 
often  wished  he  had  more  natural  dignity. 


NICK  225 

"  I  do  wish  you'd  try  and  see."  The  giant  was 
curiously  persistent. 

"  What  can  I  do  if  it  is  so  ?"  said  Alexander,  rest- 
ing his  head  on  his  hand.  It  is  hard  not  to  show 
impatience  at  times,  but  long  practice  does  wonders. 
"  Well,  look  here.  I  have  got  to  see  Archerson  at 
eight.  I'll  have  the  young  one  down  just  before  and 
have  a  look  at  both  of  them.  Will  that  do  ?  " 

"  Good,"  said  Johnstone,  rising  at  once.  "  Shall 
I  send  him  ?  " 

"  Tell  him — let's  see — to  bring  me  his  Scripture 
notes  at  five  minutes  to  eight,  sharp.  That'll  serve. 
Do  you  mind  ?  " 

Mr.  Johnstone  seemed  content,  and  left  the  field 
to  Mr.  Fanshawe. 

"  A  report  has  come  to  my  ears,  sir,"  said  Fan- 
shawe importantly,  "  that  Archerson  is  entering  for 
the  Falconer  Medal.  I  wondered  if  you  had  heard 
anything  about  it  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens,  no."  The  headmaster  sat  back. 
Mr.  Fanshawe's  news  was  most  effective.  "  Good 
gracious,"  he  went  on  scratching  his  chin,  "I  hope 
he  won't  get  it.  It  would  be — most  inconvenient." 

"  He  has  not,  at  present,  sent  anything  in,"  Mr. 
Fanshawe  continued.  "  I  still  only  have  the  papers 
of  which  you  know." 

"  But  " — Alexander  glanced  at  the  calender  near 
him — "  to-day's  the  last,  surely." 

"  Just  so.  It  is  peculiar.  That  is  why  I  am  in- 
clined to  doubt  the  truth  of  the  report.  But  I  let  the 
boy  have  a  hint,  in  case  he  might  be  wool-gathering. 
Just  enough  to  poke  him  up,  if  it  is  a  fact." 

"  I  hope  it's  not,"  said  Alexander  again,  "  I  am 
not  prejudiced,  I  believe ;  but  I  had  far  sooner  it 
were  false." 

He  sat  cogitating.  Mr.  Fanshawe  lingered,  rather 
curious.  He  wondered  which  of  the  senior  boys 

p 


226  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

who  were  competing  Mr.  Alexander  was  thinking  of. 
It  was  so  significant,  his  mentioning  that  he  was  not 
"  prejudiced."  Of  course  he  was  known  generally  to 
favour  his  own  form :  that  was  notorious.  Yet — how 
extraordinarily  stern  and  fixed  he  looked. 

He  had  to  go  finally,  for  Alexander  spoke  no  more. 
In  a  quiet  room  he  sat  and  stared  before  him,  the 
lines  deepening  on  his  brow. 

Much  hung  on  his  battle  with  the  boy  that  evening, 
and  he  felt  hardly  fit  to  face  it,  for  he  was  aware  of 
an  aversion  he  had  tried  vainly  to  stamp  out.  With 
his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  his  school,  he  knew  infal- 
libly the  influence  that  had  stirred  it  to  fever.  He 
had  the  choice  before  him  of  two  risks — that  of  curb- 
ing and  punishing  the  boy,  possibly  to  enrage  him 
further  :  and  the  greater  one  of  lifting  him  to  liberty 
and  honour,  and  so  conceivably  giving  his  talents  for 
sedition  new  life,  and  a  wider  field.  The  winning  of 
the  Falconer  prize  would,  he  felt,  be  a  weight  in  the 
balance.  He  would  have  to  risk  all  and  put  him  up. 
He  came  actually  to  considering  wearily  whether  he 
could  not  rush  the  boy  through  the  intermediate  stage, 
and  take  him  under  his  own  rule  in  the  highest  form. 
That  Nick's  intellect  would  prove  itself  there  he  had 
not  a  moment's  doubt,  and  if  he  could  worthily  occupy 
every  ounce  of  his  brain,  Alexander  believed  some  of 
his  doubts  and  difficulties  concerning  him  might 
dissolve.  But — there  were  fifty  "  buts  "  to  the  over- 
worked headmaster.  In  these  few  short  minutes  of 
leisure  left  him  he  interviewed  the  objections  sternly, 
one  by  one. 

While  he  sat,  Edgell  minor  knocked,  came  in,  and 
silently  advanced  a  book.  The  headmaster's  face 
was  no  longer  stern  as  it  turned  towards  him.  The 
change  in  it  was  indeed  remarkable. 

"  Got  wet  last  night,  didn't  you  ?  "  he  said,  tossing 
the  book  on  the  table  without  looking  at  it. 


NICK  227 

Tony  nodded.     He  did  not  seem  inclined  to  speak. 

"  I  can't  have  you  walking  about  the  house  at 
night,"  said  Mr.  Alexander.  "  It's  against  the  rules." 

"Walking-  The  boy's  lips  parted.  "Oh!"  He 
realised,  shivered  rather,  and  glanced  away  :  but  be- 
fore he  did  so,  Alexander  thought  he  had  never  seen 
such  a  look  before  in  any  boy's  eyes.  Johnstone  was 
right,  and  more  than  right.  This  was  getting  serious. 

He  said  "  Come  in  "  to  Archerson's  knock,  but  he 
still  watched  Antoine.  At  Nick's  entrance  the  boy's 
head  went  back  as  if  he  had  been  struck.  He  gazed 
at  him  straight  and  fascinated.  Nick  himself  flushed 
a  little  more  at  the  sight  of  him — he  had  already  more 
colour  than  his  wont — and  advanced  smiling.  He 
did  not  wait  for  the  headmaster  to  speak. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  tell  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  that  I 
shan't  apologise  to  either  Jerrard  or  Home." 

Mr.  Alexander  regarded  him  in  silence. 

"Sorry,  "said  Nick  with  a  smile.  "  It  can't  be  done. 
That's  all."  He  swung  about. 

"Archerson!  Stop!  This  is  not  enough."  At  the 
stern  order  the  boy  stood  still  in  spite  of  himself. 
"  I  think  you  are  very  foolish,"  said  Alexander  slowly. 
'  You  must  know  how  you  are  ruining  your  chances 
by  this  behaviour.  Wait  a  few  minutes,  and  I  will 
talk  to  you  alone." 

Still  fixing  Archerson,  he  put  a  hand  to  Antoine 
who  was  rigid,  and  said,  "  Go." 

"Oh,"  said  Nick,  with  the  same- insufferable  air. 
"  Edgell  had  much  better  stop  to  listen,  much."  He 
turned  contemptuous  eyes  on  the  boy. 

"  The  question  between  us,"  said  Alexander  quietly, 
"  has  nothing  to  do  with  him." 

Archerson  laughed. 

"  More  than  you  think.  Oh,  I'm  not  mad.  He 
knows  quite  well  what  I  mean." 

"  You  are  puzzling,  and  hurting  him,"  said  Mr. 


228  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Alexander,  rising  to  his  feet,  for  he  could  not  move 
Tony.  He  retired  instead,  and  put  his  hands  behind 
him.  "  You  are  doing  him  harm,  and  he  is  much 
younger  than  you.  Can  you  not  see  it  ?  " 

"  He's  done  me  more,"  said  Nick. 

"  It  has  been  reported  to  me,"  said  the  headmaster, 
after  a  pause  of  consideration,  "  that  you  thought  of 
entering  for  the  Falconer.  Is  it  a  fact  ?  " 

Through  his  rage,  the  boy  was  struck  by  the  still 
stern  voice.  "  Who  told  you  so  ?  "  he  demanded, 
looking  all  round  the  room. 

"  It  is  simply  a  report." 

"  Simply  a  report — all  over  the  school,"  said 
Archerson  slowly.  "  There  are  such  lots  of  reports. 
I  wonder  who  started  it."  His  eyes  were  on  Tony 
now,  mercilessly  searching  him.  The  colour  rushed 
up  the  boy's  white  face  under  the  look,  and  he  caught 
vaguely  at  the  table. 

"  It  is  not  true,  then  ?  "  said  Alexander,  now  com- 
pletely puzzled.  The  weapon  he  had  planned  to  use 
was  failing  him.  He  could  not  use  that  last  persuasion 
to  the  rebel,  the  possible  reward  of  his  own  great  gifts 
that  he  was  forfeiting. 

Nick  paused  a  minute,  just  to  get  the  effect  he 
wished.  "True?  Whoever  said  so,  "he  said,  his  eyes 
on  Antoine,  "  was  inventing — or  lying.  I  have  no 
intention  of  going  in  for  the  Falconer  Medal.  I  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing." 


VI 

AND  the  next  morning  he  was  not  to  be  found.  He 
had  often  boasted  to  Antoine  that  if  the  worst  oc- 
curred, he  could  always  run  away,  and  this  was 
apparently  what  he  had  actually  done,  though  how 
and  when  it  would  be  hard  exactly  to  say.  The  thrill 
in  the  school  of  course  was  enormous.  It  was  so 
exactly  like  Archerson  !  That  was  the  first  point  on 
which  every  one  agreed.  No  other  in  the  school 
was  so  obviously  the  one  to  do  it.  The  term  was 
just  beginning  to  drag  a  little  tamely  when  he  kindly 
provided  this  sensation,  the  best  they  had  ever  had 
at  Radfield.  The  juniors  fell  on  Tony  with  one 
accord,  and  tried  to  get  facts  out  of  him. 

But  Tony  was  dull.  He  said  rather  feebly  that 
"  he  didn't  know  "  either  why  or  where  Archerson  had 
gone.  He  was  helpless  altogether,  and  restless  in 
the  extreme.  No  one  could  get  hold  of  him  for 
more  than  two  minutes  together  ;  and  he  looked  as 
if  he  wondered  what  was  happening  and  why  people 
were  making  such  a  fuss — as  if  he  evidently  ought 
not  to  have  known  better  than  anybody  ! 

"  I  shall  have  to  protect  that  kid,"  said  Philip 
simply  to  Glenmuir  after  dinner.  "  Beastly  bore  ; 
do  you  mind  having  him  here  ?  " 

"  Awfully,"  said  Glenmuir,  who  was  not  at  all 
ashamed  of  his  preference  for  Tony.  "  I  wondered 
when  you  intended  to  send  out  a  rescue  party. 
You're  always  so  jolly  deliberate." 

"  Makeweight,"  suggested  Philip.  "  It  wouldn't 

229 


230  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

do    to    have    two    in    a    family    like    that,    you 
know." 

,  "  You  sound  light-hearted,"  said  Glenmuir,  turning 
round. 

"I'm  delighted,"  said  Philip  with  energy,  "  that 
Archerson  is  gone  It's  a  weight  off  my  chest.  I 
hope,  wherever  he's  gone  to,  he'll  stay  there.  If  he 
does,  we  may  get  things  straight  before  the  end  of 
the  term. 

Glenmuir  knew  his  sentiments  well  enough — in- 
deed for  weeks  past  he  had  been  spared  no  commen- 
tary. Philip,  however  much  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  abstract  his  thoughts  and  fasten  them  on  his 
work,  was  incapable  by  nature  of  sitting  and  seeing 
things  go  wrong.  He  took  hold  of  Drake,  that  vague 
well-meaning  official,  and  tried  to  manage  him,  to 
shove  him  along  some  line  of  definite  action,  he 
hardly  minded  what.  Drake  was  grateful  and  re- 
sentful by  turns  :  and  Philip's  enemies  took  care  not 
to  let  him  lose  sight  of  the  resentment.  Meanwhile 
Glenmuir,  who  was  himself  in  Drake's  inner  circle, 
and  had,  so  to  speak,  a  hand  on  Edgell's  collar,  was 
the  one  buffer  between  the  various  parties  ;  yet  even 
his  reserve  of  good  nature  was  sorely  taxed  among 
them  ;  and  at  the  present  moment,  like  Philip,  he  felt 
he  had  had  about  enough. 

So  his  short  sight  testified. 

"  It's  a  bit  of  a  breathing-space,"  he  admitted. 

But  think  of  the  kid." 

"  Oh,  I'm  thinking  of  him  too.  I  don't  believe," 
said  Philip,  "  that  Tony  really  cares  for  Nick  ;  I 
mean,  to  matter.  Do  you,  Glenmuir  ?  "  He  looked 
a  trifle  anxious. 

Glenmuir  shook  his  head.  "  Lord  knows.  He 
always  seemed  to  me  captured  somehow."  He  paused 
to  consider.  "  Can't  explain,"  he  said  frankly. 
"  He'll  miss  him,  that's  all  I  can  get  at.  He'll  miss 


NICK  231 

him  frightfully.  You  see,  he  ain't  got  anybody  else." 
He  regarded  his  friend  serenely. 

Philip  took  a  careful  shot  at  his  head  with  the 
book  he  happened  to  be  holding,  and  went  down- 
stairs on  his  quest.  After  much  search  he  came  on 
Antoine  at  last  in  the  long  grass  behind  the  cricket- 
nets,  which  was  an  excellent  place,  for  the  people  at 
the  nets  were  much  too  busy  to  attend  to  him.  The 
headmaster's  collie  lay  alongside,  and  their  four  bright 
eyes  looked  out  with  much  the  same  heedful  obser- 
vation of  the  passers-by.  Philip  snapped  his  fingers, 
though  whether  to  the  dog  or  the  boy  remains  doubtful. 

"  Come  along,"  he  said,  and  had  them  both  with 
him  in  a  minute.  Having  dismissed  the  collie — much 
depressed  and  disappointed — at  Mr.  Alexander's 
gate,  Tony  was  told  he  might  come  upstairs  and 
make  coffee  for  Edgell  and  Glenmuir.  This  was  one 
of  his  accomplishments,  as  it  happens,  so  two  pur- 
poses were  served.  Coffee — as  made  by  the  ruck  of 
fags,  or  the  school  cook,  for  that  matter — is  not  worth 
drinking  :  such  was  at  all  events  Philip's  opinion. 
Antoine's  was  worth  drinking  a  good  deal  of,  as  was 
subsequently  proved. 

Both  the  elders  were  patiently  kind  to  the  little 
boy,  but  he  was  very  odd,  even  for  him.  Philip  asked 
just  by  way  of  experiment,  if  he  knew  where  Archer- 
son  was. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Antoine.  "  But  perhaps  I  shall." 
He  stared  out  of  the  window. 

"  Think  he'll  wire  ?  "  said  Philip  satirically.  "  Now 
don't  be  a  little  fool."  He  dragged  him  down  on  to 
the  chair  beside  him.  "  He's  cut,  and  it's  the  best 
thing  for  all  parties.  Tell  the  truth  now.  You  were 
sick  of  him." 

"  Oh,  no— really." 

"  No  need  to  be  polite,"  said  Philip.  "  We  want 
to  know  what  you  really  think.  See  ?  " 


232  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Yes,  I  see."  A  grave  pause.  "  I  think  he  is  not 
gone  far  from  here,  and  he  waits  for  me  to  come.  I 
am  to  go  soon  to  him." 

"  If  you  dare "  said  Philip,  sitting  up. 

"  But  I  dare — yes  !  "  The  obstinate  look  came  to 
his  mouth.  "  He  was  very  angry,  dreadful,"  he  said 
thoughtfully.  "  But  that  is  no  difference.  He  has 
been  that  before,  you  see.  He  will  want — that  I  come." 
Then  seeing  Philip  raise  his  eyebrows  at  Glenmuir, 
"  He  will,"  he  said  angrily.  "  I  am  not  mad." 

"  Ain't  you  ?  "  Down  went  Tony's  head  on  to 
his  shoulder.  "  I  wish  you'd  be  like  other  kids," 
said  Philip  with  a  sigh.  "  It's  an  awful  responsibility 
to  have  cracked  ones  about." 

"  Specially  if  they  belong  to  you,"  said  Glenmuir, 
who  was  looking  on  with  a  certain  relief.  He  knew 
Philip  was  clever,  but  he  was  always  discovering  it 
in  new  departments.  He  was  plucky  too.  When 
it  came  to  the  point  he  did  not  avoid  his  responsi- 
bilities. Good  lord — why  was  he  not  at  the  head  of 
the  school  at  this  moment  ? 

"  You  will  get  the  medal  for  papa,"  cried  Antoine, 
twitching  himself  upon  a  sudden.  "  Tiens,  I  did 
not  think  of  that."  (He  spoke  French.)  "  Un- 
less  "  His  face  clouded. 

"  Unless  Erskine  does,"  said  Philip.  "  I  needn't 
pay  a  prophet  to  tell  me  that." 

' '  Erskine — bah  !  Oh,  but  I  wish  I  knew ' '  He 

gripped  Philip's  shoulder,  staring  out  again. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Philip.  "Do  talk  English; 
Glenmuir  can't  understand." 

Tony  glanced  quickly  at  the  extra  person. 

"  He  is  laughing,"  he  observed. 

'  Well,"  said  Philip,  "  you  are  as  good  as  a  play, 
you  know.  He's  not  used  to  it,  yet." 

"  Is  it  bad  to  tell  a  secret  ?  "  Antoine  desired  to 
know  a  little  later. 


NICK  233 

"  Serious  question  ?  All  right,  I'll  see  if  I  can 
answer,"  Philip  considered.  "  It  entirely  depends 
who  you  tell  it  to." 

"  But  sometimes  you  can't  help  that.  It  must  go 
to  the  person — just  who  it  happens — that  it  is." 
Antoine  finished  the  sentence  with  some  care.  As 
usual  having  got  into  French  he  found  it  hard  to  get 
out  again.  However,  Philip  had  decreed  it. 

"If  the  person  is  nice,"  he  added  in  rapid  confi- 
dence, "  tant  pis,  it  goes  to  him.  I  nearly  told  you 
just  now." 

"  Jove  ! — what  an  escape."  Philip  was  laughing 
now  himself,  chiefly  owing  to  the  contagion  of 
Glenmuir.  He  seldom  laughed,  though  he  appre- 
ciated a  joke  ;  with  Tony  he  could  keep  his  face  for 
hours. 

"  Shall  I  guess  ?  "  he  gibed. 

"Guess  it?  Oh,  no,  you  shall  not.  Please!"  He 
clung  to  his  brother. 

"  All  right,  ducky,  keep  cool.  I  believe,"  said 
Philip,  "  you  ought  to  be  in  bed  to-day." 

"  No  !  "  with  passion.     "  In  bed  I  dream." 

"  And  out  of  bed  you  drivel,"  said  Edgell 
absently.  "  What's  to  be  done  with  you  ?  "  He 
glanced  out  of  doors.  "  Suppose  I  ought  to  send 
him  out."  He  questioned  Glenmuir.  "  It's  time, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

'  Yes,  I  am  going."  Antoine  was  on  his  feet  as 
Glenmuir  took  out  his  watch.  "  You  need  not  look," 
he  told  him,  "  because  I  hear  them  out  there — 
Garett  and  Meyer  and  Otway."  He  stood  motion- 
less a  minute.  There  was  the  faintest  confused 
gabble,  as  far  as  the  elder  boys  could  hear  :  but 
Antoine's  ears  were  convinced  in  three  seconds. 
He  gave  Philip  a  quick  smile  and  vanished — leaving 
emptiness  behind  him.  At  least  that  was  the  impres- 
sion made  on  Glenmuir. 


234  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

The  search  for  the  missing  boy  went  on.  Mrs. 
Archerson  telegraphed  that  he  had  not  been  heard  of 
at  home,  and  arrived  herself  almost  before  the  tele- 
gram. She  was  very  cool  and  perfectly  businesslike 
— an  enormous  relief  to  the  headmaster ;  for  relations 
on  these  occasions  are  commonly  the  last  straw. 

The  weather  had  turned  raw  and  squally ;  a  change 
from  high  summer  to  winter  such  as  occurs  in 
England  more  often  than  we  care  to  think  about. 
The  principal  anxiety,  shared  by  mother  and  doctor, 
was  for  the  boy's  health.  He  was  absolutely  care- 
less about  himself  always  :  and  he  had  a  weak  chest, 
which  had  been,  though  unheeded  by  him,  a  cause 
of  anxiety  at  home  and  at  school.  Mrs.  Archerson 
told  Mr.  Alexander  quietly  what  she  feared,  and  why 
she  had  reason  to  fear  it.  The  boy  was  literally  all 
that  was  left  her  out  of  a  family  of  three  ;  all  victims 
more  or  less  directly  of  the  same  cunning  disease. 
She  had  faced  all  his  life,  as  she  faced  everything, 
the  possibility  of  losing  him,  her  last  possession  ;  and 
the  thought  only  spurred  her  to  greater  courage  and 
serenity.  She  had  moved  the  mechanism  that  sent 
him  to  school  deliberately,  because  she  fancied  he  was 
beginning  to  suspect  how  closely  she  watched  him 
at  home.  She  had  been  repaid  too  for  the  venture  : 
for  with  the  aid  of  Miss  Fenwick  and  a  clever  doctor, 
the  change  had  done  him  good,  in  spite  of  his  railing 
at  the  climate.  Yet  now  they  were  forced  to  con- 
clude that  he  had  escaped,  unprovided  with  any 
resources,  in  the  worst  of  humours,  and  with  a  wild 
district  before  him.  There  was  no  way  of  issue 
from  a  haunting  dread  as  to  what  imprudence  he 
might  not  already  have  committed.  If  he  had  been 
out  for  one  or  more  of  these  past  nights — the  "  if  " 
stood  unfinished.  Mr.  Alexander  gripped  her  hand 
in  real  admiration,  and  they  both  turned  to  work 
anew. 


NICK  235 

Busy  as  she  was,  she  had  barely  leisure  to  notice 
the  Edgells  ;  but,  when  he  could,  Antoine  saw  her. 
He  listened  for  her  voice,  too,  breathless  ;  and  when 
it  came  to  his  ears,  calm  and  cheerful  as  ever,  he 
slipped  away  relieved. 

Once  she  came  to  him  unexpectedly,  when  he  was 
practising,  or  trying  to  practise,  for  the  distraction 
of  many  mysteries  was  not  good  for  music. 

'  You  do  not  know  anything,  do  you,  my  dear," 
she  said,  holding  him  in  her  firm  grasp.  "  You 
would  help  me  if  you  could  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes, ".said  Antoine ;  adding,  after  an  instant's 
abstraction,  "  perhaps  I  will  help  you  soon." 

It  really  sounded  as  if  he  was  too  deeply  engaged 
with  the  violin  for  the  moment  to  do  so.  Mrs. 
Archerson  showed  a  gleam  of  amusement  for  a 
moment  in  the  lines  round  her  anxious  eyes,  before 
she  let  him  go  and  went  downstairs  to  her  work  again. 

With  Philip  she  held  council  once  or  twice,  for 
his  good  sense  seemed  to  have  struck  her ;  indeed, 
one  or  two  ingenious  suggestions  owed  their  origin 
to  him.  But  she  was  away,  gone  off  down  the  line 
on  a  feeble  scent  which  proved  to  be  false,  when  the 
next  dramatic  event  occurred  at  Radfield. 

Miss  Fenwick  went  to  the  headmaster  at  an 
unusual  hour  of  the  morning,  and  asked  him  if  he 
would  see  Edgell  minor,  who  believed  that  he  knew 
where  Archerson  was. 

Had  he  had  a  communication,  Mr.  Alexander 
asked  quickly. 

Only  of  a  sort,  according  to  Miss  Fenwick.  He 
had  had  a  dream.  Would  Mr.  Alexander  see  the 
boy  ;  and  would  he  be  careful  ? 

Mr.  Alexander  would  do  both  ;  and  once  more  he 
interviewed  Tony  in  his  room  before  the  work  of 
the  day  began. 


236  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

The  boy  was  absolutely  certain — that  was  all.  His 
story  was  clear  and  concise  to  the  point  of  convic- 
tion. They  had  found  a  cave,  he  and  Archerson 
together,  he  explained.  It  was  not  far  from  the 
stone-quarries,  where  borings  had  once  been  made 
for  a  mine.  They  had  discovered  it  by  chance  the 
last  day  before  the  Easter  holidays.  Archerson  had 
said  how  easy  it  would  be  to  store  it  by  degrees  with 
food  from  the  farm,  and  to  live  there  as  a  hermit, 
or  preferably  a  robber.  He  had  invited  Antoine  to 
live  with  him,  and  had  been  vexed  when  he  refused. 
At  this  minute  he  was  there  and  he  wanted  Antoine. 
If  the  headmaster  did  not  mind  his  going  first — 
going  at  once,  in  fact — anybody  who  chose  could 
come  afterwards.  In  fact,  they  must,  because — he 
thought — Archerson  was  ill. 

"  So  will  you  be,"  thought  Alexander,  having  the 
first  inkling  of  what  lay  ahead. 

"  Certainly  you  cannot  go,"  he  said  in  the  most 
cheerful  and  decided  manner.  "  It  is  a  school-day, 
after  all.  You  must  be  in  school  by  nine." 

Just  a  common  day,  after  that  night ;  Antoine 
realised  it,  looking  at  him.  It  was,  somehow,  rather 
a  relief.  But  then — Archerson 

"  Can  you  tell  us  just  where  this  cave  of  yours 
is  ?  "  said  Alexander  with  interest.  "  Then  Mr. 
Johnstone  or  somebody  could  go  and  look."  The 
mathematical  master  was  also  present. 

"  I  made  a  picture,"  said  Tony  doubtfully,  ad- 
vancing it.  "I  remembered  when  I  dreamed,  so  I 
made  the  little  picture  with  Miss  Fenwick's  pencil 
when  I  came  to  the  light." 

"  What  is  that  cross  ?  "  asked  Alexander,  as  the 
other  master  leaned  over  to  look.  It  was  a  most 
clean  and  complete  little  plan,  such  as  did  Mr.  John- 
stone's  heart  good  to  see.  The  Highbury  quarries 
were  clearly  indicated,  and  the  paths.  A  cross 


NICK  237 

marked  one  spot,  and  the  letter  C  lay  presumably 
upon  the  cave. 

'  That  was  to  help,  I  thought,"  said  Antoine 
anxiously.  "  Where  the  path  goes  up  to  it.  Garett 
will  know  that  place." 

"  Ah  !     What  did  Garett  do  there  ?  " 

Tony  hesitated  :  for  this  happened  to  be  a  hard 
question  to  answer.  "  He  said  some  things  there  to 

me — beautiful  things.     And  I "  He  blushed  and 

stopped. 

"  H'm.  Garett  will  be  in  school  too,  unfortunately. 
Does  anybody  else  know  it  ?  " 

A  pause.     "  Mr.  Fanshawe." 

"  Oh,"  said  Johnstone.  "  It  was  that  occasion, 
was  it  ?  Were  you  making  for  the  cave  that  day  ?  " 

Antoine  blushed  again.  "  Yes,  yes  ;  because  of 
the  thunder.  The  cave  would  have  been  a  dark 
place,  but  I  couldn't  get  so  far." 

"  I  see.  Well,  Fanshawe  will  find  if  for  us."  John- 
stone  turned  to  the  headmaster,  pocketing  the  little 
paper.  They  both  looked  singularly  hopeful,  Tony 
was  glad  to  see  ;  but,  then,  they  were  both  extremely 
sensible  people. 

His  eye  travelled  up  Mr.  Johnstone. 

"  Well,"  said  the  giant,  looking  down. 

"  You  could  lift  him  up  and  carry  him,  I  think  ? 
Nick,  I  mean." 

"  Rather,"  said  Johnstone.     "  Two  of  him." 
'  Will  you  bring  him  back  here  ?  "     His  security 
was  quite  infectious,  really. 

"  Well,  come  to  think  of  it "  Johnstone  glanced 

at  Alexander.     "  Might  as  well  take  him  home  from 

there — if  he  is  really Beg  your  pardon,  Tony," 

he  added,  with  a  laugh  ;   then,  turning  serious  on  a 
sudden  :   "  Shall  I  take  him  any  message  ?  " 

Both  the  men  waited  curiously. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Tony,  reflecting.    "  That 


238  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

is  rather  far  away  to  talk."  He  looked  out  to  where 
Highbury  Edge  rose  against  the  grey  morning  sky 
above  the  playing  field  and  the  trees. 

"  Well,  shall  I  bring  a  message  to  you  ?  " 

Fear  sprang  clear  in  the  boy's  eyes  as  he  turned 
about. 

' '  I  think — you  will  have  to, "  he  said  hurriedly,  drop- 
ping his  voice.  "  I  mean — that  is  not  finished  yet." 

It  sent  a  swift,  odd  suggestion  into  Johnstone's 
mind.  He  must  have  looked  exactly  so  on  the  day 
of  the  thunderstorm,  when  Percy  Garett  said 
"  beautiful "  things  to  him,  and  Fanshawe  called 
him  a  coward. 

"  I  tell  you  they  have,"  said  Elliott  before  school 
to  an  audience  in  the  Second  Form.  "  Fanshawe  was 
fussing  round  like  anything,  and  Phipps  saw  Dr. 
Robinson  talking  to  him,  which  must  mean  some- 
thing pretty  bad  ;  and  they've  taken  ropes  and  pick- 
axes ;  and  they've  gone  in  that  direction." 

"  What  do  they  want  pick-axes  for  ?  "  asked  Meyer. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  said  everybody. 

"  But  I  mean,  if  he  has  fallen  down  the  quarry, 
you  wouldn't " 

"  Shut  up,"  said  Elliott.  "  What  should  they 
fasten  a  rope  to,  if  it  wasn't  a  pick-axe  stuck  in  the 
ground  ?  " 

Meyer  was  crushed. 

"  It  would  have  to  be  a  jolly  strong  pick-axe,  if 
Fanshawe  went  down,"  said  Otway  absently.  He 
was  trying,  against  odds,  to  do  his  geometry,  left  un- 
finished by  an  oversight  the  night  before,  in  the  few 
minutes  before  school.  "  Look  here,  Elliott.  If  I 
produce  DA,  and  drop  a  perpendicular  on  it  from  this 
top  corner  B " 

"  I  say,"  Elliott  interrupted,  "  if  you  can  produce 
DA,  you'd  better  go  and  tell  his  mater  so." 


NICK  239 

"  Funny  ass,"  said  Otway  crossly.  "  I  do  wish  you 
kids  would  hold  your  jaw.  I  must  get  this  done  for 
Johnstone  before  the  bell." 

"  Hope  Johnstone  will  like  it,  I'm  sure,"  said 
Elliott,  giving  a  cursory  glance  to  Otway's  laborious 
diagram.  "  A  jolly  mess  you've  made  of  it.  Why 
don't  you  ask  young  Edgell  ?  " 

"  I  thought,"  said  Meyer,  "  we  weren't  supposed  to 
write  anything  before  school." 

Everybody  squashed  Meyer. 
'  You're  getting  as  bad  as  Garett,"  said  Otway.  "  I 
say,  young  Meyer,  keep  a  look-out  for  Garett,  will 
you  ?  I  don't  want  him  spoiling  my  fun.  Dash  it, 
where  has  that  kid  Tony  got  to  ?  Just  when  he 
might  be  some  good,  he's  never  there." 

"  Here's  Reeves  coming,"  announced  Meyer  in  an 
awful  whisper. 

Otway  laid  down  his  pen  at  once.  He  was  merely 
studying  his  geometry  book  carelessly  when  the  form- 
master  entered. 

"I  say  Elliott,"  he  said  loudly,  to  fill  the  sus- 
picious silence,  "  do  tell  us  ;  have  you  produced 
DA?  " 

"If  you  have  done  so,  Elliott,"  said  Mr.  Reeves, 
"  I  am  sure  the  police  will  be  grateful." 

Everybody  laughed.  The  joke  had  been  made,  of 
course ;  but  it  was  very  clever  and  kind  of  Mr.  Reeves 
to  make  it,  all  the  same.  Mr.  Reeves  looked  quite 
gay,  for  he  had  had  a  wonderfully  interesting  private 
talk  with  Mr.  Fanshawe. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  you  geometry  this  morning," 
said  Mr.  Reeves  to  the  public. 

*j-The  juniors  stared.  Otway,  greatly  relieved,  shut 
his  exercise  book.  If  it  was  only  Reeves,  then  DA 
might  do  for  the  present  as  it  was. 

"  Mr.  Johnstone — ahem — is  otherwise  engaged." 
Elliott  winked  at  Otway,  who  winked  back.  "  Of 


240  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

course,"  Mr.  Reeves  added  presently,  "  Mr.  Johnstone 
will  see  your  exercise-books." 

"  Curse,"  said  Otway  to  himself.  He  took  up  his 
pen  again  furtively,  as  Mr.  Reeves  appeared  to  be 
distracted. 

"  If  Johnstone,"  whispered  Elliott  in  his  ear,  "  is 
going  down  that  rope,  I'm  sorry  for  the  rope,  that's 
all." 

"  I  hope  it'll  break,"  said  Otway.  "  Serve  him  right 
for  setting  us  such  beastly  sums." 

"  Did  you  see  how  Reeves  sniggered  ?  "  murmured 
Elliott.  "  Bet  you  anything  you  like  they're  on  a 
scent.  Think  they'll  find  the  body  this  time  ?  " 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Otway,  "  if  Johnstone's 
there."  For  all  his  malice  in  the  setting  of  problems, 
Mr.  Johnstone  had  the  unfeigned  respect  of  the 
Radfield  juniors. 

The  rest  of  the  Second  Form  were  wandering  in 
as  the  hour  of  the  bell  grew  imminent.  As  Mr. 
Reeves  providentially  summoned  Garett  to  talk  to 
him  at  the  desk,  Otway's  problem  got  on  nicely. 

"  There's  young  Edgell  at  last,"  said  the  friendly 
Elliott,  as  Antoine  slid  into  his  place  near  by. 

' '  Psst ! ' '  Otway  furtively  invited  him.  ' '  Tony,  I 
say." 

The  book  was  shoved  under  his  eyes. 

"  Look  here.  If  I  produce  the  side  DA,  and  drop 
a  perpendicular  on  it  from  B,  isn't  that  bit  the  line 
that  fool  wants  ?  " 

Antoine  looked  down  at  DA  rather  indifferently. 

The  angle  at  A  was  a  right-angle,  he  suggested. 

"  Well,  who  said  it  wasn't  ?  "  said  Otway,  glancing 
hastily  at  the  book. 

Nobody ;  only  it  did  not  seem  much  good 
dropping  a  perpendicular  if  one  was  dropped 
already. 

But  Otway  would  drop  as  many  perpendiculars 


NICK  241 

from  B  on  to  the  line  DA  as  he  liked,  without  your 
beastly " 

"  You  draw  it  so  badly,"  said  Antoine. 

This  was  too  much.  Otway  wanted  to  know  if  he 
had  had  him  there  to  help  with  his  geometry,  or  to 
make  remarks  on  his  drawing.  And  not  long  after 
the  dialogue  between  them  grew  too  heated,  and 
Antoine  was  sent  back  to  his  place  by  Mr.  Reeves. 

Geometry  with  Mr.  Reeves  was  decidedly  dull,  and 
proved  a  good  time  to  think  in.  Antoine  gazed  out 
of  the  window  and  wondered  if  Mr.  Johnstone  was 
at  this  minute  coming  to  the  cave,  and  if  Douglas 
would  expect  him  to  be  there,  and  how  furious  he 
would  be  with  him  for  not  coming. 

That  he  would  be  angry  was  clear  to  his  mind,  for 
the  anger  had  made  part — the  worst  part — of  the 
dream.  He  wished  he  could  have  explained  to  the 
headmaster  how  much  and  why  he  had  wanted  to 
go  ;  but  he  had  been  sleepy  and  stupid.  Besides,  he 
was  beginning  to  have  a  great  fear  of  speaking  at  all, 
for  he  always  told  things  he  did  not  meant  to  tell — 
and  also  people  might  look  at  him  as  if  he  was  mad, 
which  was  the  thing  in  life  he  most  objected  to.  Of 
course,  seeing  Nick  himself  was  the  one  real  chance 
of  getting  to  know — of  setting  these  frantic  puzzles 
straight.  If  he  could  force  him  anyhow  to  explain 
his  anger — to  say  just  what  he  meant  by  those  looks 
in  the  headmaster's  study.  What  had  his  telling 
Garett  to  do  with  Nick's  turning  his  back  on  the 
Falconer  ?  Had  he  not  said  the  thing  was  written, 
and  gloated  over  it  ?  It  was  all  the  most  "  curious  " 
thing  that  Tony  had  ever  come  across.  He  lost 
himself  in  dreamy  meditation  over  it. 

"  And  how,  Edgell,"  said  Mr.  Reeves,  "  do  you 
spell  parallelogram  ?  " 

The  class  chuckled  appreciation.  Really,  Reeves 
was  quite  funny  to-day. 

Q 


242  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  P-a-r "  said  Antoine  hopefully. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Mr.  Reeves,  during  the  pause. 

"  After  that,"  said  Antoine,  withdrawing  his  dark 
eyes  from  the  window,  "I  do  not  spell  it  any 
more." 

But  he  only  had  to  write  out  the  word  ten  times, 
because,  as  kind  little  Reeves  told  somebody  after- 
wards, he  really  looked  so  seedy. 

"  Good  news — great  news  !  "  Mr.  Fanshawe  was 
the  bearer  of  the  happy  tidings.  "  Alexander,  I  con- 
gratulate you  !  That  last  idea  was  an  inspiration." 

"  Thanks  " — Alexander  grasped  his  hand — "  and 
thank  heaven  !  " 

He  rang  the  bell  to  despatch  the  telegram  of  one 
word  that  lay  waiting  on  his  table. 

"  We  found  it  easily,  thanks  to  your  nice  little  plan. 
And  there  was  the  boy,  sure  enough.  Johnstone 
and  Robinson  have  taken  him  home." 

"  The  worse  for  it — much  ?  " 

' '  Feverish  rather — helpless  quite.  To  think  of  what 
might  have  happened  if "  Fanny  shuddered. 

"  We  will  not  think  of  it.  How  long  do  you  gather 
he  has  been  there  ?  " 

"  From  the  first,  from  what  we  could  make  out — 
three  nights  at  least.  The  first  night  he  slept  in  the 
open." 

"  Mad  !  "  said  Alexander.  "  He  was  feverish, 
you  say  ;  was  he  light-headed  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so.  He  plainly  did  not  know  all  the 
tune  what  he  was  saying.  The  boy  is  in  great  distress 
about  something,"  said  Fanshawe  weightily.  "  He 
has  got  something  on  his  conscience,  if  you  ask  me." 

"  If  you  ask  me,"  Alexander  thought,  "  he  ought  to 
have  a  good  deal."  He  only  asked,  "  How  did  he 
get  food  ?  " 

Mr.  Fanshawe  temporised,     "  He  must  have  lived 


NICK  243 

on  very  little,  Robinson  thinks.     He  looked — how 
shall  I  say — rather  pinched." 

Mr.  Fanshawe  quite  wished  he  had  a  larger  audi- 
ence. All  the  way  home  he  had  been  thinking  how 
he  should  relate  it.  Why,  it  would  be  in  the  papers 
very  probably.  "  Discovery  of  the  missing  boy  " — 
he  could  picture  it  clearly.  If  only  the  mother  were 
here  at  least,  but  she  could  not  arrive  till  night,  and 
then  she  would  have  a  bald  narrative — second-hand 
— from  Alexander.  However,  it  was  true  Mrs. 
Archerson  was  not  of  the  shrinking,  delicate  nature 
that  demands  the  highest  tact ;  perhaps  his  fine 
shades  would  have  been  wasted  on  her. 

Alexander  insisted  on  unromantic  detail.  "  He 
must  have  eaten  something.  How  did  he  get  hold 
of  it  ?  " 

"  Ah,  there  we  come  to  a  question,"  said  Mr.  Fan- 
shawe, shaking  his  head.  "  I  had  a  theory  he  got  it 
from  the  farm.  So  I  stopped  there  to  make  a  few 
inquiries  on  my  return.  But  Mrs.  Mowatt — who 
seemed  to  be  very  busy  in  the  dairy — could  only  say 
that  a  boy  had  been  there  twice  in  the  afternoon  for 
milk  ;  and  that  it  might  have  been  one  of  our  boys 
but  he  had  no  cap." 

'  That  could  not  have  kept  him  alive." 

"  Robinson  had  an  idea  that  he  went  home  to 
Shepstone  for  food,"  said  Mr.  Fanshawe  lightly. 

"  Ha  !  When  his  mother  came  over  here."  Alex- 
ander nodded.  "  But  they  would  have  let  her  know 
at  once." 

"  Of  course  they  would.  Johnstone  made  out 
some  theory  that  Archerson  had  a  hold  over  one  of 
the  village  boys,  and  made  him  fetch  and  carry.  I 
forget  how  he  worked  it  out ;  very  elaborate,  I 
thought." 

"  It's  probable,  though,"  said  Alexander  thought- 
fully. 


244  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Fanshawe,  slightly  nettled. 
He  still  considered  his  own  theory  the  best. 

"  That  he  has  a  hold  over  anybody.  Did  he  ask 
for  Edgell  ?  " 

Mr.  Fanshawe  thought  his  questioning  erratic. 
How  could  one  make  a  fluent  tale  with  such  inter- 
ruption ? 

"  Edgell — let  me  see.     No  ;  he  called  him  names." 

"  Ah  ?  " 

"  At  least,  somebody  was  a  young  sneak  several 
times  over,  suggesting  him." 

The  headmaster  was  silent.  "  Thank  goodness  I 
did  not  send  him,"  passed  in  his  mind. 

"  Well,  I  give  it  up,"  he  said  rising.  "  Archerson 
was  always  beyond  me." 

Fanshawe  stared.  Fancy  admitting  it,  even  if  it 
were  so  ! 

"  At  any  rate,  for  the  present  the  knot  is  cut. 
That  is  something  to  be  thankful  for.  Though  in- 
deed," he  added,  "for  that  great  woman's  sake,  I 
hope  the  boy  won't  be  bad.  One  must  think  of  her." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  the  mothers."  Mr.  Fanshawe 
sighed.  "  By  the  way,  I  have  a  note  for  her  here  the 
boy  had  written.  Probably  he  meant  to  despatch  it 
home  somehow,  before  he  got  so  bad.  It  lay  beside 
him  on  the  ground,  when  we  first  went  in.  You  will 
allow  me,  ahem,  to  confide  it  to  you." 

The  headmaster  looked  it  over.  It  was  a  clumsy 
note  written  in  pencil  on  coarse  paper,  but  carefully 
fastened  and  clearly  directed  to  Mrs.  Archerson.  A 
stamp  was  attached,  as  if  he  had  intended  to  post  it 
but  had  been  in  doubt  as  to  the  address. 

"  There  was  no  other  communication  ?  " 

"  None." 

"Thank  goodness,"  he  thought  again.  Antoine's 
thunder  seemed  remote.  He  could  sleep  in  peace 
to-niglit,  at  least. 


NICK  245 

"  Many  thanks,  Fanshawe,"  he  said.  "  It  was 
uncommonly  good  of  you  to  go.  It  is  a  great  load 
off  my  mind." 

Mr.  Fanshawe  laughed  gaily. 

"  I  seem  to  come  in  for  all  the  incidents,  don't  I  ? 
By  the  way,  Alexander,  I  have  a  theory." 

"  Let's  hear  it."  The  headmaster's  smile  was 
very  pleasant. 

"  I  think  Archerson  must  have  written,  or  begun 
to  write  that  essay  for  the  Medal." 

"  He  denied  it." 

"Ah?  All  I  know  is,  he  kept  quoting,  clever- 
sounding  stuff :  persistently  running  through  a  long 
sentence,  and  then  saying,  'That's  good,'  as  if  he 
liked  it.  Robinson  did  not  seem  to  notice  anything, 
but  I  had  the  clue.  It's  queer,  isn't  it  ?  Could  he 
not  have  written  it,  and  torn  it  up  in  a  pet  ?  " 

"  Quite  well." 

"  But  you  say  he  denied  it  ?  " 

"  He  could  quite  well  have  done  that  too." 

Mr.  Fanshawe  departed.  There  was  no  doubt  at 
all,  he  reflected  that  Alexander  was  prejudiced 
against  the  Fifth  Form  boys.  Still,  take  him  all 
round,  and  allowances  made,  he  was  really  not  half 
a  bad  fellow. 

Edgell  major  really  did  possess  his  share  of  the 
detective's  instinct.  So  far  as  they  could  compass 
it,  the  authorities  had  kept  the  quest  for  the  missing 
boy  altogether  apart  from  the  school ;  but  they  could 
not  prevent  leakage  of  gossip  through  the  staff 
among  the  boys  ;  nor  could  they  prevent  the  picked 
specimen  here  and  there — especially  in  the  school- 
house — from  noticing  more  than  he  was  intended  to 
notice. 

Philip  kept  his  eyes  open,  and  his  mouth — unless 
in  the  company  of  Glenmuir — shut ;  and  Glenmuir 


246  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

was  on  several  occasions  very  properly  astonished 
and  impressed  by  the  accuracy  of  his  guesses,  and 
the  justice  of  his  criticism  of  persons  and  their  pro- 
ceedings. 

On  the  day  now  in  question,  he  had  connected 
some  words  rashly  dropped  by  his  friend  the  school 
doctor  with  the  appearance  at  an  early  hour  of  Miss 
Fenwick  in  the  headmaster's  passage,  and  both 
things  with  the  fuss  Mr.  Fanshawe  made  before  his 
mysterious  disappearance  with  Mr.  Johnstone  during 
school-hours.  And  something  seriously  wrong  with 
the  buttons  of  his  favourite  and  oldest  coat  necessi- 
tated his  paying  a  call  on  Miss  Fenwick  in  her  room 
after  tea — a  time  when  he  knew  she  was  likely  to 
be  alone. 

The  three  who  knew  the  real  author  of  Archerson's 
discovery  had  guarded  the  secret  perfectly  up  till 
now.  But  it  had  better  be  confessed  at  once  that 
Miss  Fenwick  capitulated  to  Philip  before  he  had 
coaxed  her  for  ten  minutes.  Her  conscience  did  not 
accuse  her  much,  as  it  happens,  for  telling  him  of 
Antoine's  dream  ;  though,  as  with  Mr.  Alexander 
she  begged  him  to  be  careful. 

"Don't  you  know  I  always  am,"  said  Philip  re- 
proachfully. "Were  you  up,  or  did  he  wake  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  still  up.  It  was  hardly  after  twelve.  I 
was  in  here,  alone,  luckily." 

"  Which  of  us  were  you  thinking  about  ?  "  in- 
quired Philip. 

"  None  of  you,  thank  goodness.  I  was  reading, 
just  where  I  am  now.  He  came  straight  in  without 
knocking." 

"  Beastly  cheek.     Did  you  snub  him  ?  " 

"  I  thought  he  was  asleep  at  first ;  but  I  soon 
gave  up  that  idea." 

"  Excited  ?  "  said  Philip  laconically. 

"  I  could  hardly  hold  him." 


NICK  247 

"  He  wanted  to  go  straight  off  at  once,  I  suppose  ?  ': 

"  He  was  determined  to.  I  was  at  my  wits'  end," 
said  Miss  Fenwick  quite  calmly,  "  for  a  time." 

"  How  did  you  prevent  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  quieted  down  when  he  had  been  here  a 
little." 

"  But  what  did  you  do  ?  "     Philip  pressed  her. 

"  I  don't  remember,"  said  the  matron.  "  I  talked 
to  him,  I  suppose.  I  suggested  he  should  draw 
that  map :  something  to  do  with  his  hands,  you 
know." 

"  You  might  have  managed  lunatics  all  your 
life,"  said  Philip  with  a  sigh  of  deep  approval. 

"  Well,  he's  so  clever.  It's  not  a  bit  the  same  with 
a  silly  boy.  I  laughed  at  him  at  first,  because  his 
hand  shook  ;  then  you  should  have  seen  the  way  he 
went  to  work.  He  crumpled  up  the  first  he  made 
and  threw  it  away  :  and  drew  another,  as  steady  as 
could  be  by  then,  and  frowning — bless  him  !  "  Miss 
Fenwick  paused.  "  So  I  said  if  he  was  good  I  should 
let  him  show  it  to  the  headmaster  in  the  morning. 
And  he  was  tired  out  by  that  time,  and  went  to  bed 
as  good  as  gold." 

Such  was  Miss  Fenwick's  narrative.  Philip  thought 
it  over. 

"  Did  Alexander  lie  to  Fanshawe  then  ?  "  he  asked. 
"Fanshawe  hadn't  an  idea  who  started  the  game — 
bet  you  anything  you  like  ;  if  he  had,  he  wouldn't 
have  been  so  complimentary.  I  say,  did  you  tell 
Alexander  to  lie,  Miss  Fenwick  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  ridiculous,"  said  the  matron.  "  I  simply 
told  him  the  state  of  things.  He  has  quite  enough 
sense  to  see  for  himself  what  is  necessary." 

"Yes,"  said  Philip,  thoughtfully.  "I  bet  he 
knows  Fanny  by  now.  Oh,  lor'  !  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  hear  anything  of  your  talk," 
said  Miss  Fenwick,  who  was  extraordinarily  severe 


248  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

on  gossip.     "  So  don't  think  it.     Are  you  going  to 
stay  here  all  day,  Edgell  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Philip.  "  Only  a  little  longer."  He 
leant  his  arms  on  the  table.  "  You've  known  kids  like 
Tony  before,  haven't  you,  Miss  Fenwick  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Well,"  said  the  matron,  considering,  "not 
exactly.  There  was  Galton,  Jimmy  Galton  ;  that 
wasn't  quite  the  same,  certainly.  There  was  that 
little  Hardinge — the  one  that  died." 

"  Don't,"  said  Philip. 

"  Now  don't  be  a  silly  boy,"  said  Miss  Fenwick, 
coming  up  to  him.  '  There's  really  nothing  to  excuse 
nerves  in  you.  You  ought  to  be  thankful  you're 
such  a  healthy  family.  His  constitution's  perfect, 
and  he  only  needs  a  little  sense  in  managing." 

"  So  few  people  have  it,"  said  Philip.  "  I  have, 
of  course — you  needn't  look  at  me  like  that  ;  and 
so  have  you,  Miss  Fenwick,  between  ourselves.  I 
mean — common  people." 

He  really  looked  a  little  tired  ;  he  had  been  think- 
ing a  good  deal.  What  with  examinations,  and 
private  detective  work,  and  Tony — he  began  to  be 
not  sorry  the  holidays  were  close  ahead. 

The  matron  stood  a  minute,  thinking. 

"  Wait  till  you  have  known  as  many  people  as  I 
have,"  she  said,  "  and  as  many  surprises.  Every  one 
is  common  at  first  sight — I  never  had  a  new  boy  yet 
that  wasn't.  But  the  more  you  get  to  know  them 
the  more  odd  things  come  out.  Sometimes  I  get  to 
believe  there's  hardly  a  person  in  the  world  who  is 
common,  really."  She  set  a  few  of  the  manifold 
photographs  on  her  mantelpiece  straight.  "  You've 
got  to  care  about  people,  of  course,"  she  added  simply. 

Philip  rose  to  his  full  height  and  stood  beside  her. 
"  I  will  truly  try  and  care  about  Fanny,"  said  he. 
"  Oh,  go  along,"  said  Miss  Fenwick  indignantly. 
"  What  is  the  use  of  ever  trying  to  be  serious  ?  " 


VII 

ANTOINE  was  in  the  company  of  the  violin — and 
thinking  about  Mrs.  Archerson. 

He  had  heard  among  the  current  reports  circula- 
ting ceaselessly  in  the  house,  that  she  would  arrive 
for  a  short  time  during  the  evening,  and  drive  straight 
on  home.  So,  as  time  went  on,  he  watched  very 
attentively,  and  listened  still  more.  He  had  a  feel- 
ing that,  even  without  these  otherwise  useful  senses, 
he  would  know  as  soon  as  she  came  inside  the  house. 
As  the  mysteries  he  hated  crept  upon  him,  he  felt  a 
great  and  growing  need  to  see  and  hear  her.  She 
was  so  firm  and  so  clear,  that  the  thought  of  her  was 
a  rest.  She  might  even  help  him  by  a  word  or  two, 
for  she  was  a  person  of  the  most  delightful  surprises. 
If  he  kept  carefully  in  her  neighbourhood,  she  might 
surprise  him  again. 

The  violin  seemed  to  aid  his  thoughts  about  her, 
though  it  has  to  be  confessed  he  was  doing  nothing 
at  all.  He  knew  he  ought  to  practise,  of  course. 
Three  short  weeks  ahead,  no  more — and  how  much 
would  be  required  of  him  by  a  master  who  was  very 
different  in  his  demands  from  Mr.  Carmichael. 

Not  that  Mr.  Carmichael  was  altogether  negli- 
gible ;  he  demanded  himself  a  good  deal  more  than 
Antoine  generally  found  it  convenient  to  give.  He 
had  actually  remembered  to  go  punctually  to  him 
that  afternoon,  and  Mr.  Carmichael  had  carelessly 
put  off  the  lesson,  and  said  that  he  would  come  to 
him  in  the  music-room  at  six. 

249 


250  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Well,  it  was  after  six  now,  and  neither  he  nor 
Mrs.  Archerson  had  arrived.  Antoine  stared  at  the 
music-page  before  him.  He  saw  it  all,  of  course,  and 
he  heard  it ;  he  was  convinced  he  was  playing  it 
quite  nicely — and  then  he  realised  with  a  jump  a 
little  later  that  he  had  never  started.  It  was  most 
unfortunate,  but  it  was  really  impossible  to  make 
music  to-night.  It  could  not  be  done.  He  thought, 
and  watched,  and  listened  instead,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  the  point  of  the  bow  lying  idle  at  his  side. 

"  That's  the  way  you  practise,  is  it  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Carmichael's  gruff  voice — not  his  best  voice  of 
society.  Whereupon  Antoine  had  to  wake  up,  and 
give  his  attention  for  a  time  to  him.  He  opened  the 
lesson  by  informing  him  that  he  could  not  play. 
He  meant  to  be  considerate  simply — but  Mr.  Car- 
michael  did  not  take  it  well.  He  was  out  of  humour 
because,  though  he  had  thought  it  a  gain  in  the 
afternoon  to  be  free  of  Antoine,  he  now  discovered 
that  the  deferred  lesson  spoilt  his  evening.  This 
was  entirely  Tony's  fault,  naturally,  and  had  to  be 
visited  on  him. 

The  lesson  that  evening  was  certainly  not  a  success, 
and  there  were  faults  on  both  sides.  Antoine  in  his 
languid  mood  of  the  moment  was  supremely  irri- 
tating, and  would  have  been  so  to  a  more  even- 
tempered  teacher  than  Carmichael.  He  played 
elegantly  and  lifelessly — at  half-power,  so  to  speak. 
The  fact  that  the  man  at  his  side  could  lay  his  finger 
on  no  special  fault  made  it  more  exasperating.  For 
Mr.  Carmichael  had  no  great  resources  in  language  ; 
and  unless  he  could  point  to  some  definite  blunder — 
as  he  naturally  could  with  the  majority  of  the  small 
boys  he  taught — he  was  unable  to  put  the  higher 
criticism,  though  vaguely  felt,  into  words.  He  took 
shots  at  it,  so  to  speak,  with  slang  phrases  ;  but 
Antoine's  comprehension  of  English  slang  was 


NICK  251 

limited,  so  they  came  together  to  an  impasse  pretty 
soon. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  imagine  you've  put  that  to 
bed,"  he  said  pleasantly  at  the  end  of  the  sonata. 
"  Nicely  polished  off,  ain't  it  ? — got  the  dust  well  out 
of  the  corners,  and  brought  it  up  to  the  mark  for 
society." 

Such  wealth  of  imagery  takes  time  to  grasp  : 
Antoine  regarded  him  thoughtfully. 

"  We  have  still  ten  minutes,"  said  Mr.  Carmichael. 
"  Suppose  you  worked  a  little,  instead  of — er — 
playin'  to  the  children." 

"  I  am  playing  to  you,"  said  Antoine. 

"  Are  you  ?  Don't  sound  much  like  it.  Perhaps 
you  think  I  can  waste  my  time  listening  to  a  second- 
hand musical  box.  Play  that  again  " — he  suddenly 
became  clear  and  cutting,  "  and  play  as  if  you  meant 
it,  do  you  mind  ?  " 

"  I  can't  play  it,"  said  Antoine.     "  I  told  you 

that.     I ' '    He  hesitated  an  instant,  then  it  had  to 

come.     "  I  don't  want  to  think  about  it  to-night." 

"  Sorry  to  trouble  you — but  you've  got  to." 

A  pause  of  strain  ensued. 

"Look  alivenow,"  said  Carmichael.  "  I'm  waiting." 

So  was  Antoine,  obviously ;  also  listening  in- 
tently during  the  pause,  for  distant  sounds  of  arrival 
were  audible  to  him,  if  not  to  the  master. 

"  It  is,"  he  said  quickly  and  low.  "  Oh — I  must  go." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Carmichael,  biting  his 
moustache. 

"  You  will  let  me  go,  please,"  said  Tony,  hastily 
laying  down  his  bow.  "  You  see,  there  is  not  very 
much  time.  And  I  cannot  play  at  all  to-night.  You 
have  heard  that." 

"  I  did,"  said  Carmichael.  "  See  here,  just  take 
up  that  fiddle  and  do  what  I  say.  We'll  see  about 
the  time  when  it's  done,  not  before." 


252  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

He  stood  over  the  boy,  looking  rather  dangerous. 

Antoine  shrugged  despair,  and  seized  the  violin  he 
had  laid  down.  "  Quick,  then.  If  it  is  right — may 
I  go  ?  " 

"  Get  on  and  hold  your  jaw,"  said  the  music- 
master. 

He  was  playing  now  for  his  liberty,  against  time  ; 
and  he  played  as  Carmichael,  at  least,  had  never 
heard  him.  For  the  first  time,  the  man  was  con- 
vinced in  spite  of  himself  of  the  powers  with  which 
he  had  been  trifling.  The  concentration  and  the 
passion  alike  were  quite  unchildish,  and  they  rather 
took  his  breath.  Unluckily,  Antoine's  will  was  a 
broken  reed  to-night  ;  it  failed  him  suddenly.  He 
stopped,  and  once  more  flung  down  his  bow. 

"  I  can't,"  he  said,  half  choking.  "  I  said  so.  Let 
me  go  to  her." 

Carmichael,  brought  up  short  in  his  unwilling 
admiration,  resented  that  and  the  shock  together. 
He  hardly  heard  what  the  boy  said  ;  he  only  saw  the 
gesture  of  rebellion.  Deliberate  rebellion  such  as 
this  had  never  come  near  him  before,  and  he  was 
really  quite  incapable  of  dealing  with  it.  He  de- 
scended to  threats,  and  he  did  not  pick  his  language 
to  deliver  them.  Finally,  he  said  that  Antoine  should 
finish  then  and  there,  or  he  would  go  straight  to 
Alexander. 

Until  he  actually  made  for  the  door,  the  boy 
hardly  seemed  to  take  in  his  meaning  ;  but  the 
action  awakened  him  completely. 

"  Go  there  ?  "  he  stammered  in  surprise.  "  Oh, 
but — but — you  can't." 

"  Can't  I  ?  We'll  see  about  that."  Carmichael 
opened  the  door,  which  gave  on  to  the  staircase. 
Antoine  came  after  him  in  a  flash. 

"  But — she  is  there,"  he  said,  breathless. 

"  She  ?     What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 


NICK  253 

"  Nick's  mother.  I — I  heard  her  come.  She  is 
down  there  with  him." 

"  Rot."  Carmichael  was  a  little  taken  aback  ; 
he  eyed  Antoine  dubiously.  "  You  couldn't  hear 
anything  when  the  door  was  shut.  A  little  game  of 
yours  to  get  off,  this — eh  ?  " 

"A  game!"  said  the  boy  between  his  teeth. 
"  Oh — one  is  happy  to  play  games,  I  think." 

They  were  facing  one  another.  Carmichael  stared 
at  him  blankly  a  minute. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  asked  quite  helplessly. 

"  Her — I  want  her.     Let  me  go  !  " 

A  door  beneath  was  opening,  and  voices  emerged 
into  the  hall. 

"  Well,"  said  Carmichael  at  his  gruffest,  "  go  and 
be  d d." 

The  word  was  necessary  to  his  feelings,  for  he  had 
seldom  been  so  variously  stirred  in  one  half-hour. 
But  Tony  did  not  hear  the  word  his  freaks  had 
elicited,  for  he  was  gone  before  the  sentence  ended. 

Mrs.  Archerson  arrived,  and  had  her  short  inter- 
view with  the  headmaster.  He  gave  her  the  note 
first  of  all,  when  she  had  learnt  the  all-important 
fact  of  Douglas's  whereabouts  ;  for  he  felt  her  boy's 
own  hand  must  reassure  her  more  than  any  other 
intrusive  agent. 

She  read  it  carefully,  over  by  the  window  of  his 
study  in  the  level  evening  light ;  very  carefully  Alex- 
ander thought,  for  she  remained  reflecting  over  it 
for  some  time.  When  she  came  back  to  him  she 
held  the  paper  still  in  her  hand. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  folding  it  up  as  though  something 
troublesome  was  mastered.  "  Now  let  me  hear  how 
you  discovered  him,  please." 

Mr.  Alexander  told  her  what  there  was  to  tell, 
under  headings,  as  it  were.  The  first  heading, 


254  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

concerning  Antoine,  seemed  to  interest  her,  and  she 
asked  a  question  or  two  ;  but  she  also  seemed  a 
little  absent,  and  Alexander  soon  went  on  to  the 
next.  Mr.  Fanshawe's  story  suffered  in  his  hands, 
as  that  gentleman  had  foreseen.  But  Mrs.  Archer- 
son  seemed  quite  satisfied,  and  she  even  admitted 
the  theory  about  the  village  boy.  Nick  had  a  tool, 
it  seemed,  that  would  fit  the  theory  very  well ;  and 
his  mother  appeared  to  have  little  doubt  that  he  had 
been  well  and  secretly  supplied  in  the  retreat  he  had 
chosen.  As  to  accounting  for  the  boy's  behaviour, 
Mr.  Alexander  had  said  all  he  intended  to  say  on  that 
subject,  and  left  it  to  his  mother's  knowledge  of  him 
to  supply  the  rest.  She  had  hardly  asked,  indeed  ; 
though  he  had  given  her  in  duty  bound  the  facts  of 
Nick's  misbehaviour  and  defiance.  There  had  been 
throughout  no  trace  of  complaint  or  even  of  in- 
jured feeling  on  her  part ;  and  at  the  close  of  Alex- 
ander's careful  report,  her  thanks  were  frank  as 
they  were  warm. 

He  asked  her  finally  if  she  would  like  to  see  any- 
body else  before  she  left ;  for  it  was  a  free  hour,  and 
all  or  any  of  the  actors  in  the  day's  work  were  at 
her  service.  He  looked  at  her  very  steadily  as  he 
made  the  suggestion  ;  for  truly  she  puzzled  him, 
greatly  though  he  admired  her. 

"  I  am  afraid  my  boy  is  ill,"  she  said,  fixing  her 
own  straight  glance  on  him  in  return.  "  Many 
thanks,  but  I  am  quite  satisfied.  I  must  go  to  him 
without  delay." 

He  quietly  acquiesced.     "  You  do  not  blame  us  ?," 

"  You  ?  Dear  me,  no.  You  were  completely  in 
right,  and  he  as  completely  in  the  wrong.  He 
must  know  that  quite  well.  And  you  have  had  all 
this  trouble  and  distraction.  There  are  no  excuses 
for  him — that  I  can  make.  It  is  his  own  fault  that 
there  are  none." 


NICK  255 

These  were  her  last  words  to  him,  and  often  after- 
wards they  recurred  ;  they  seemed  to  him  at  the 
moment  both  proud  and  pathetic,  and  he  had  that 
image  of  her — proud  and  pathetic — clearly  fixed, 
though  he  never  saw  her  again. 

She  was  making  her  last  farewells  in  the  hall,  when 
some  movement  made  the  headmaster  glance  above 
him.  Antoine  stood  at  the  head  of  the  front  stairs, 
where  the  house-boys  were  not  permitted,  grasping 
at  the  railing.  The  fact  was  that  he  had  begun  to 
feel  that  he  would  have  to  go  after  her,  if  she  did  not 
come  to  him. 

She  did  come.  She  left  Mr.  Alexander  one  minute, 
and  went  firmly  up  the  steps  ;  and  he  found  her 
standing  in  front  of  him,  holding  out  a  scrap  of  paper. 

"  He  put  that  in  mine  for  you,"  she  said,  with 
strange  gravity.  "  Tell  Philip  I  will  send  him  news. 
Good-bye,  Tony." 

After  that  she  took  his  hand  for  a  second,  and  went 
down  again.  The  next  minute  the  carriage- wheels 
crushed  on  the  gravel,  and  she  was  gone. 

Antoine  frowned  puzzled  at  the  note  he  held  in 
his  hand.  It  was  Nick's  writing,  of  course,  though 
very  shaky  and  difficult  to  read.  He  opened  and 
made  it  out  gradually,  by  dint  of  giving  it  his 
whole  attention — a  thing  which  could  still  just 
be  done. 

"  DEAR  TONY,— 

"  (i)  Alexander's  going  to  cheat  me  of  my  rights 
next  term,  to  pay  me  out  for  cheeking  him  about 
Home  and  Jerrard. 

"  (2)  Home  and  Jerrard  burnt  my  Falconer  Essay 
to  pay  me  out  for  ragging  them  in  class. 

"  (3)  I  am  writing  this  to  pay  you  out  for  giving 
me  away  to  Home  and  Jerrard. 


256  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Now  do  you  see,  my  dear  little  sneak  ?  Tear 
this  up. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"D.  G.  A. 

"  I  told  mother  about  you,  too — just  to  be  on  the 
safe  side  when  I  was  not  there  to  keep  an  eye  on 
you." 

Tony  read  it  through  twice,  still  standing  against 
the  polished  railing  of  the  headmaster's  staircase. 
Lifting  his  head,  he  was  quite  surprised  to  find  Mr. 
Alexander  near  him  ;  he  must  have  come  up  the 
soft-carpeted  front  stairs  very  quietly  indeed. 

"  But  I  did  not,"  he  said  aloud,  looking  more  hope- 
lessly perplexed  than  ever.  His  eyes  crossed  Alex- 
ander's, as  if  he  was  not  there.  "  At  least,  I  do  not 
think  I  did.  I  wish — I  could  remember." 

The  headmaster  passed  him  by  and  went  on  to  his 
own  room.  "  I  never  felt  so  like  hating  a  boy  in  my 
life,"  he  told  himself  very  seriously,  when  he  got 
there.  "  And  to  think  I  should  not  have  foreseen  it ! " 


IV.  PHILIP 


R 


"  AND  do  try  not  to  play  the  fool,"  was  Philip's 
parting  with  Tony,  on  the  second  evening  of  the 
holidays,  when  he  left  him  at  their  little  country 
station,  on  his  way  to  join  Glenmuir  in  Scotland. 
Glenmuir  had  asked  to  be  allowed  Antoine  too, 
but  from  the  first  mention  of  it  Philip  discouraged 
him. 

"  He  ought  to  get  right  away,"  argued  Glenmuir, 
when  he  put  his  point  earnestly  to  Philip  on  the  last 
night  of  term.  "  I'm  sure  he  ought.  I  never  saw 
anything  so  utterly  tame  as  he  has  been  these  last 
three  weeks.  Reeves  may  enjoy  it ;  but  it's  not 
right,  and  it's  not  a  bit  like  Tony." 

"  You've  never  seen  him  at  home,"  said  Philip. 
"  You  needn't  think  he  goes  on  the  loose  at  home 
like  he  does  here.  He's  tame  enough  when  my 
uncle  has  him  by  the  scruff.  Not  a  kick  left  in  him." 

Glenmuir  laughed  incredulously. 

"  It's  a  fact,"  said  Philip.  "  My  uncle,  when  he's 
really  on  his  day,  would  make  some  people  in  this 
place  look  silly.  Why,  I  have  to  look  out  myself  at 
times.  I  can't  think  what  you're  grinning  at.  As  I 
was  saying,  Glenmuir,  I'll  put  Tony  into  his  arms 
with  my  blessing,  and  then  I'll  get  away  by  the 
night  train  on  the  thirtieth.  Great  Scott !  I've  had 
enough  of  it."  He  stretched  his  arms.  Privately 
he  was  almost  triumphant  at  having  brought  the  kid 
off,  as  he  would  have  said,  without  a  fuss.  What  the 
exact  fuss  was  that  he  feared  he  never  quite  put  into 

259 


260  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

words  ;  whatever  it  was,  it  had  not  happened,  owing 
to  his  good  generalship,  and  he  was  content. 

"  Well,  it  shall  take  its  pretty  medal  home,"  said 
Glenmuir,  throwing  an  arm  about  him.  He  per- 
fectly comprehended  why  Philip  had  refused  point- 
blank  to  travel  north  with  him.  A  thing  that  Edgell 
undertook,  he  commonly  did  well ;  and  though  he 
expressed  it  somewhat  pictorially,  his  intention  was 
to  see  Antoine  through  from  one  life  to  the  other, 
before  he  left  him  for  his  own  well-earned  holiday. 
They  remained  clasped  in  a  dramatic  embrace  for  a 
minute,  both  staring  at  the  Falconer  Medal,  which 
lay  in  its  glory,  gleaming  softly  against  blue  velvet  on 
the  table  before  them. 

"  I  shall  never  get  rid  of  the  feeling  of  this  term," 
said  Philip  soberly  after  the  pause. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  will — at  Braid,"  answered  Glenmuir, 
who  believed  in  his  native  heath  as  a  cure  for  all 
troubles. 

It  was  that  same  last  night  of  term  that  Philip 
wrote  to  Mrs.  Archerson,  giving  his  Scotch  address, 
and  claiming  her  promise  of  information.  He  had 
heard  no  direct  word  of  her  since  her  departure, 
which  astonished  him  a  little  :  for  among  various 
contradictory  reports  drifting  from  Shepstone,  none 
had  reached  the  school  hinting  at  any  grave  illness. 
The  Archersons  seemed  simply  to  have  dropped  out 
of  Radfield  without  a  sign,  as  though  they  had  never 
figured  there.  It  was  singular,  and  it  disquieted 
Philip  in  his  rather  foreboding  state  of  mind. 

He  did  not  believe  that  Antoine  had  heard  a  word 
either,  but,  especially  at  school,  he  found  it  impos- 
sible to  talk  to  him  on  the  subject.  Philip  had  a 
very  keen  suspicion  of  the  boy's  attitude  to  Mrs. 
Archerson,  although  Tony  had  never  spoken  of  her 
to  him  ;  indeed,  one  might  say,  owing  to  that,  for 
the  fact  that  Antoine  talked  so  liberally  on  all  ordinary 


PHILIP  261 

topics,  made  his  reticence  over  his  deeper  feelings 
the  more  noticeable.  The  vigorous  charm  Nick's 
mother  possessed,  of  which  Philip  himself  had  been 
very  sensible,  had  penetrated  Tony  to  the  extent  of 
tying  his  tongue.  At  least  Philip,  accustomed  to 
passing  lightly  over  his  peculiarities,  was  willing  to 
adopt  that  theory  as  accounting  for  his  silence.  Yet 
he  felt  it  needed  something  more  to  account  for  hers. 

Even  while  he  was  still  at  school,  he  was  conscious 
vaguely  of  a  puzzle  behind,  and  he  trusted  to  holiday 
leisure  with  the  boy  to  solve  it.  Yet  when  the 
opportunity  actually  came  of  their  walk  down  over  the 
fields  from  Brackenhall  to  the  station,  on  the  first  fair 
long  evening  of  the  summer  holidays,  he  found  him- 
self just  as  incapable  as  ever.  It  was  not  only  Tony's 
silence  that  baffled  him,  though  he  walked  for  most 
of  the  way  at  his  elbow  without  a  word.  It  was 
the  listless,  lifeless  air — what  Glenmuir  called  tame 
— that  was  so  extraordinarily  unfamiliar.  The  day 
had  been  torrid,  and  Philip  would  fain  have  per- 
suaded himself  it  was  sleepiness  consequent  upon 
the  heat  ;  but  an  uncomfortable  instinct  told  him 
that  it  would  not  do.  Dimly  it  entered  Philip's 
mind  that  he  had  lost  his  bearings  somehow, 
though  it  was  beyond  him  to  conceive  why,  or  how 
to  help. 

Philip  piqued  himself  on  what  he  called  "  tact  " 
in  managing  his  kind,  and  he  had  a  conscience  as 
regarded  Tony.  Resting  at  the  last  stile,  he  made  a 
real  effort  to  cross  that  other  more  intangible  barrier 
he  felt,  and  tried  one  or  two  probing  questions, 
kindly  enough  ;  but  he  got  nothing  by  them  and 
finally  gave  it  up,  contenting  himself  at  parting  with 
the  warning  already  quoted  about  playing  the  fool. 
He  got  no  smile  in  answer,  only  a  long  look,  almost 
as  though  Antoine  would  have  been  quite  glad 
of  more  definite  directions.  But  the  phrase  was 


262  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

eminently  satisfactory  to  Philip  himself,  and  as  the 
train  ran  out  of  the  station  he  leant  back  feeling  that 
he  had  satisfied  the  shade  of  his  father,  and  left  the 
perfect  code  of  conduct,  as  he  understood  it,  in 
Tony's  hands. 

Mrs.  Archerson's  letter  came  to  him  at  Braid.  It 
was  very  kind  and  very  clear  ;  and,  though  it  shook 
Philip's  vague  forebodings  into  reality,  he  was 
thankful  to  have  it.  Douglas  was  ill ;  and,  though 
there  was  nothing  immediately  serious,  the  effects 
had  dragged  on  longer  than  the  exposure  he  had 
suffered  seemed  to  warrant,  and  the  doctors  united 
in  warning  her  to  carry  him  out  of  England  for  the 
winter.  She  was  going  almost  immediately  to  Mon- 
treux,  for  she  wished  the  boy  to  look  upon  it  as  a 
holiday  simply  until  his  state  of  mind  should  war- 
rant his  being  told  the  truth  ;  but  she  had  given  the 
facts  to  Mr.  Alexander,  and  taken  his  name  off  the 
Radfield  books  ;  for,  even  with  the  best  fortune  in 
the  world,  there  was  no  chance  of  Douglas's  return- 
ing there. 

She  sent  her  love,  but  she  did  not  mention  Antoine 
by  name  ;  and  Philip,  having  read,  struck  the  table 
with  an  irritation  that  made  his  friend  look  round. 

"  Perhaps  she  has  written  to  Tony  too,"  said 
Glenmuir,  when  he  explained  ;  but  Philip  shook  his 
head. 

"  She  told  him  originally  that  she  would  write  to 
me,"  he  said.  "  And  she  has  such — such  an  infernal 
way  of  saying  just  what  she  means.  There's  more 
in  it — there  must  be.  Look  here,"  he  held  the  letter 
out  like  a  challenge.  "  Wouldn't  you  say  she  was 
fond  of  me — almost  ?  " 

"  Quite,"  said  Glenmuir,  when  he  had  read.  He 
tried  to  be  serious,  for  Philip  was  obviously  so,  and 
the  letter  was  rather  tragic  ;  but  the  idea  of  Mrs. 
Archerson,  as  he  remembered  her,  being  laid  low  as 


PHILIP  263 

easily  as  the  rest  struck  the  note  of  humour  all  the 
same.  "  Were  you  specially  nasty  to  her,  Phil  ?  " 
said  Glenmuir. 

'  No,"  said  Philip,  shortly,  "  I  did  what  I  could  ; 
she  knows  I  wanted  to  help ;  but  Tony  did  help. 
He  did  what  no  one  of  the  rest  of  us  could  have 
done,  and  in  a  way  that  meant  more  than  all  our 
fussing  and  talk.  I  see  that :  I  bet  Alexander  sawait : 
you  see  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Glenmuir  meekly. 

"  Well,  why  can't  she  ?  That's  where  the^whole 
thing  sticks  for  me."  Philip  glared  at  him  severely. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Glenmuir  after  considera- 
tion, "that  Tony  and  Nick  quarrelled  badly  before 
he  went  off,  and  that  she  takes  Nick's  sidej?j" 

Philip  rose  and  looked  out  at  the  rain-swept  land- 
scape. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  since  you  mention  it,  that's  what 
I  do  think.  It's  the  only  explanation.  But  I'm  dis- 
appointed in  her." 

"  She's  his  mater,"  Glenmuir  murmured. 

"  I  know  that,"  said  Philip,  curtly  as  ever.  "  But 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  abstract  justice  ;  and  I'd  have 
sworn,  of  all  the  people  I  ever  met,  she  knew  what 
it  was." 

"  Are  you  abstractly  just  to  me,  mamma  ?  " 
Glenmuir  addressed  his  mother  as  she  entered  at 
the  moment. 

;'  I  hope  so,"  she  said,  stopping.     "  Why  ?  " 

"  Only  Phil  was  laying  down  the  law  about  mothers 
and  justice,  you  know." 

"  Solomon,"  said  Lady  Earraid,  smiling  at  the  tall 
boy  in  the  window.  "  Can  I  be  of  any  assistance  in 
the  discussion,  Philip — or  shall  I  retire  ?  " 

"  Phil  won't  let  you  divide  his  baby,"  said  Glenmuir 
with  the  futility  vacation  permits.  "  Which  was  what 
old  Solomon's  justice  came  to,  if  I  remember  right. 


264  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Phil's  the  mother  in  this  instance,  you  see,  mamma, 
though  you'd  never  guess  it  to  look  at  him." 

"  Don't  talk  rot,"  Philip  growled,  as  Glenmuir's 
mother  laughed. 

"  I  wish  he  had  brought  his  baby  with  him,"  she 
said.  "  I  would  have  seen  he  got  justice,  if  that 
is  all." 

" It  isn't  all,"  said Glenmuir.  "Not  for  some  kinds 
of  baby.  That's  just  the  point." 

"It  is  all,"  asserted  Philip,  turning  round  to  con- 
tradict him.  "  It's  all  they,  or  I,  or  anybody  ask.  If 
you  can't  get  everything — which  nobody  can — get 
justice.  I  don't  mean  Solomon's  beastly  slip-shod 
trickery — or — or  Shylock's — or  any  other  Jew's — • — " 

"  They  call  him  a  broad-minded  Radical  at  school," 
Glenmuir  observed  aside. 

"  But  the  real  thorough  justice  that's  worth  the 
name." 

"  Unseasoned  ?  "  asked  the  lady  of  the  house.  She 
was  observing  him  with  interest,  for  he  rarely  forgot 
his  shyness  in  her  presence. 

Philip  paused  to  take  it  in. 

"  Mercy,  you  mean  ?  Who  expects  mercy  ?  Who 
ever  got  it — except  kids — and  women " 

"  And  such  weak  fools."  She  finished  and  laughed. 
"  Then  it  is  not  a  question  of  children  now  ?  " 

"  Children — no."     He  seemed  set  back. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Glenmuir  and  his  nonsense 
about  the  babies  put  me  out.  If  it  had  been  a  child 
I  might  have  pleaded — as  a  mother — for  mercy  too. 
But  for  the  big  minds  of  the  world,  I  believe  I  agree 
with  you — justice  is  enough." 

"  And  the  bigger  they  are,"  said  Philip,  "  the  less 
they  get  it — ever."  He  turned  to  look  out  again, 
staring  at  the  swinging  lines  of  the  high  moors 
through  the  mist.  He  began  to  wonder  why  he  had 
spoken . 


PHILIP  265 

"  Who,"  said  Lady  Earraid  aside  to  her  son,  "  has 
lately  failed  in  the  higher  justice  to  Philip  ?  " 

'"Sh,  mamma.  He  was  discoursing  in  the  abstract. 
Can't  you  tell  it  by  his  choice  of  words  ?  " 

"  It's  getting  finer,"  said  Philip,  rather  displeased 
at  their  levity.  "  I'm  going  out."  And  unlatching 
the  long  window  suddenly,  he  went. 

Philip  went  home  in  the  last  week  of  August  to 
work,  as  he  severely  declared  to  Glenmuir,  who  was 
personally  preparing  to  shoot.  He  bore  with  him 
the  letters  which  had  reached  him  by  the  early  post 
that  he  might  study  them  at  leisure  in  the  train.  One 
was  a  bulky  packet  from  Switzerland,  the  other  a 
thin  letter,  much  bestamped,  and  bearing  his  father's 
well-known  scrawled  superscription.  He  was  quite 
glad  to  be  away  from  even  friendly  eyes  to  read  both, 
for  he  more  than  guessed  the  nature  of  their  con- 
tents. He  opened  the  smaller  one  first,  flushing  as 
he  did  so.  It  was  short. 

"  DEAR  PHIL,— 

"  I'm  in  the  devil  of  a  rush,  and  the  mail  is  going  ; 
so  strikes  me  I  can  pay  you  out  nicely,  you  young 
thief,  for  the  brevity  of  yours.  Why  can't  you 
write  a  decent  letter  with  flourishes,  instead  of  a 
thunderclap  of  news  that  might  have  travelled  on 
a  cable  ?  Now  I  shan't  ask,  though  you  bet  I 
want  to. 

"  Lord,  how  I  used  to  admire  the  man  who  got  the 
Falconer  in  my  day — when  the  standard  was  a  bit 
higher,  no  doubt.  He  was  a  real  cultivated  man — not 
a  kid  like  you.  He's  fat  now,  and  retired  on  a  C.  S. 
pension,  nor  I  don't  admire  him  any  more.  Was  it  a 
subject  you  knew  anything  about,  or  did  you  just  get 
at  them  with  your  long  words  ?  Never  mind,  so  long 
as  you've  got  the  little  gold  penny  safe  to  show  me. 
That's  all  I  care  about,  to  hand  around  and  prove  to 


266  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

them  as  don't  believe  it  that  I've  got  a  clever  son. 
Bless  you,  anyway,  my  dearest  lad, 

"  Your  father, 

"J.E." 

Philip  laid  it  down,  and  looked  out  at  the  travelling 
landscape  with  misty  eyes.  That  was  the  reward  of 
his  three  months'  work,  not  the  stupid  little  medal  the 
fellows  thought  so  much  of  ;  that  was  what  he  had 
counted  on  right  through,  the  moment's  keen  pleasure 
to  his  hard-working  distant  father.  He  knew  Jem's 
style,  and  he  knew  this  pleasure  had  been  his. 

He  should  have  all  the  details  he  demanded  now, 
however  much  they  should  reduce  the  effect  he  had 
loved  to  make  ;  the  fact  of  the  lucky  subject,  largely 
covered  by  his  favourite  reading  ;  the  fact  of  the 
single  other  serious  competitor  ;  all  the  palliating 
details  plainly  put.  Jem  would  not  think  the  less  of 
him  for  putting  them  plainly — that  was  the  beauty  of 
it.  His  own  modesty  was  so  ingrain  that  he  believed 
in  Philip's.  The  more  beautifully  such  modesty  was 
laid  out  in  words  on  paper,  the  more  Jem  believed  in 
it.  The  boy  laughed  at  himself  as  the  thought  came 
to  him  :  one  of  those  moments  of  pure  laughter  that 
are  worth  hours  of  self-abasement  to  the  not  uncon- 
mon  type  of  youth  that  Philip  represented  ;  for  they 
show  us  our  failings  in  a  flash,  instead  of  putting 
them  elaborately  through  their  paces  to  be  dwelt  upon 
and  condemned  to  such  purpose  that  they  become 
dearer  than  ever.  Tucking  away  the  thin  sheet  in 
his  innermost  pocket,  he  turned  warm-hearted  to 
his  other  correspondent. 

Mrs.  Archerson's  strong  singular  handwriting  was 
growing  quite  familiar  to  him,  for  her  letters  had 
followed  one  another  during  the  month  past.  Her 
confidence  touched  him  deeply  ;  it  suggested  that 
she  was  lonely  too,  and  that  in  this  last  trouble  her 


PHILIP  267 

strength  failed  at  it.  He  was  being  treated,  he  felt, 
like  an  elder  son,  and  as  the  tragedy  her  plain  words 
portrayed  came  home  to  him,  he  felt  even  painfully 
small  and  incapable. 

"  I  have  tried  to  tell  Douglas  the  truth  about  the 
future,  but  so  far  I  have  failed.  He  has  never  led  the 
life  of  an  invalid,  and  he  resists,  and  will  resist,  at 
every  point.  He  is  writing  hard,  and  full  of  hopes 
and  plans  ;  and  he  seems  happiest  when  I  leave  him 
alone." 

Then  towards  the  end  : 

"  He  spoke  of  you  the  other  day.  It  surprised  me, 
for  I  hardly  thought  he  knew  you.  He  said  he  wished 
you  could  see  what  he  had  written  :  some  subject  in 
which  you  are  both  interested.  He  said  he  used  to 
show  you  translations  at  one  time,  and  that  you  had 
made  more  really  sensible  remarks  than  any  one  he 
had  ever  met  (myself,  of  course,  included).  I  believe 
in  his  heart  he  admires  you  very  much,  and  I  know 
by  the  way  he  talks  you  were  kind  to  him." 

In  a  postscript  she  added : 

"  It  occurred  to  me  to  suggest  to  Douglas  sending 
his  manuscript  to  you,  since  I  was  writing  :  and  I 
discovered  at  once  that  he  intended  to  do  so.  Of 
course  he  did  not  admit  it,  but  it  was  obvious. 
Equally  of  course  he  lays  the  responsibility  of  the 
presumption  at  my  door.  If  it  annoyed  you,  he 
said,  it  was  my  fault,  not  his  :  so  abuse  me,  Philip,  if 
you  please.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  any  messages 
and  he  said — oh  dear  no.  All  such  follies  are  be- 
neath him." 

Philip  read  the  last  two  sentences  several  times, 
trying  to  extract  their  significance.  He  had  to  make 
up  his  mind  before  he  reached  home  what  he  should 
say  to  Antoine,  if,  as  he  expected,  no  word  had 
reached  him.  He  had  written  nothing  on  the 


268  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

subject  to  the  boy,  having  the  feeling,  as  always  with 
Tony,  that  it  was  better  and  kinder  to  speak  than  to 
write.  Personally  Philip  would  have  preferred  to 
write,  for  he  was  shy  in  speech  on  intimate  subjects, 
and  he  had  even  completed  a  letter  which  was  a 
model  of  its  kind  :  but  having  read  the  model  twice 
through  he  had  suddenly  torn  it  up  ;  for  strangely 
the  vision  of  Tony  studying  it  alone  had  arisen,  and 
he  could  not  bear  it.  Since  he  was  afflicted  with  a 
brother  of  that  peculiar  sort,  he  must  face  the  work 
it  entailed  :  such  shortly  was  Philip's  feeling  ;  and 
in  his  usual  businesslike  manner  he  devoted  part  of 
the  leisure  of  his  long  journey  to  preparing  for  the 
necessity. 

After  some  time,  he  folded  the  letter  with  a  sigh, 
and  opened  the  close-written  manuscript  which 
accompanied  it.  He  stopped  on  the  title  for  a 
moment  with  a  start  of  surprise,  for  it  was  very 
familiar  ;  it  had  stared  at  him  last  from  the  back  of 
those  beautifully  written  sheets  he  had  carried  to 
Mr.  Fanshawe.  Then,  forcing  himself  to  the  task 
with  a  curious  effort,  he  read  it  all  through  to  the 
end  with  scrupulous  care.  Then  he  thrust  it  aside 
viciously,  and  gave  himself  for  the  remainder  of  the 
journey  to  frowning  meditation.  The  ghosts  of  last 
term,  which  the  high  moors  of  Braid  had  successfully 
dispersed,  returned  and  thronged  about  him. 

Archerson's  essay  bore  no  date,  Philip  had  ascer- 
tained :  yet  he  had  the  best  reason  in  the  world  to 
know  that  it  must  have  taken  months  to  prepare, 
though  he  had  written  it  there  by  the  lake  in  Switzer- 
land. What  on  earth  had  the  little  fiend  being  doing 
then,  not  to  enter  for  the  medal  ?  Why  on  earth 
had  he  let  Philip  win  it,  enjoy  his  triumph  to  the 
last  fine  flower  at  leisure,  and  now,  at  the  end  of 
all,  feel  like  a  sneak  to  have  done  so  ? — unless  indeed 
the  whole  object  of  his  existence  was  to  find  the 


PHILIP  269 

most  subtle  means  of  annoying  others.  If  that  was 
what  he  existed  for — he  had  better  stop  existing  as 
soon  as  possible.  Philip  was  shocked  at  the  thought, 
but  he  had  it  quite  clearly  :  feeling  resentment  all 
the  greater  that  his  joy  in  his  first  letter  was  now 
tainted,  and  the  pity  and  sympathy  roused  by  the 
second  so  rudely  thrust  aside.  He  was  unhappy, 
uncomfortable,  and  hurt ;  something  deeper  than 
his  vanity  was  hurt  by  the  method  of  Nick's  retalia- 
tion, arriving  now.  And  his  mother  thought  he 
cared  ! — did  he  care  for  nobody  then,  nobody  at  all  ? 
If  this  was  the  sort  of  way  in  which  he  had  tormented 
those  fellows  in  the  Lower  Sixth,  he  began  to  have 
more  sympathy  with  their  violence.  If  Tony  had 
ever  been  so  cunningly  stung — Philip  shook  himself 
as  if  the  sting  was  physical,  and  packed  the  essay 
away.  His  own  obstinacy  awoke  to  life  as  he  did 
so.  He  would  jolly  well  let  the  impudent  little 
beggar  know  what  he  thought :  he  would  patronise 
his  efforts,  and  repay  him  in  kind.  Archerson  would 
call  him  a  humbug — he  could  hear  him  saying  it — 
but  he  would  feel  it  none  the  less.  Two  could  play 
at  Nick's  game,  and  Nick  should  know  it. 

So  Philip,  tired  and  cross,  longing  very  much  for 
some  flattery  to  set  him  right  with  himself,  and  not 
a  little  for  Tony's  simple  company,  arrived  home  at 
last  very  late  in  the  evening,  and  found  nobody  but 
his  uncle  upon  the  scene. 

M.  Lucien  Lemaure  was  a  gentleman  small  and 
fragile  in  appearance,  but  with  the  spirit,  will,  and 
capacity  for  work  of  a  giant.  He  seemed  actually 
to  revel  in  the  crowd  of  small  duties  and  under- 
takings which  are  sure  to  flow  in,  in  whatever  de- 
partment of  life,  upon  the  willing  worker :  and  in 
fitting  them  into  the  day  until  barely  a  moment  of 
legitimate  leisure  was  left  him.  Hi§  official  work  lay 


270  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

in  London,  but  as  soon  as  he  found  his  wife's  health 
suffered  by  town  life,  he  moved  without  complaint 
to  the  country,  travelling  up  daily  in  term  time  to 
his  duties  at  the  College,  and  accumulating  mean- 
while enough  musical  work  in  the  Brackenhall  and 
Roxminster  district  to  fill  most  of  his  holiday  hours 
as  well. 

His  temper  was  not  quite  up  to  the  level  of  his 
other  strong  qualities,  and  he  had  a  tongue  under 
which  the  most  hardened  in  the  ranks  of  his  pupils 
shivered  ;  but  he  taught  his  art  very  finely,  and  his 
repute  as  a  teacher  suffered  in  no  degree  by  a  name 
for  severity.  No  one  ever  got  the  better  of  him,  but 
his  wife,  who  did  as  she  chose  with  him  at  all  times. 
He  was  fond  of  both  his  nephews,  but  he  treated 
them  very  differently.  Philip  he  regarded  as  per- 
taining to  his  wife's  department.  He  deprecated 
her  habit  of  spoiling  him,  but  he  did  not  interfere, 
and  the  pair  caused  him  constant  if  well  concealed 
amusement.  Antoine,  on  the  other  hand,  was  his 
oificial  charge,  confided  to  his  hands  by  the  "  family," 
of  whom  M.  Lemaure  thought  more  than  of  his  life. 
He  took  Antoine  very  seriously  indeed — one  might 
have  said  nervously  ;  for  in  M.  Lemaure — as  some- 
times occurs  in  the  first  direct  descendant  of  genius 
— conscience  replaced  inspiration  to  a  degree  almost 
to  represent  it.  He  was  rather  like  a  small  steam- 
tug,  hustling  Antoine  conscientiously  along  the 
course  where  the  wind  of  his  grandfather's  person- 
ality would  have  carried  him  without  effort  or  noise. 

Philip  found  him  this  evening  still  up  to  his  eyes 
in  his  correspondence  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  with  a 
general  air  about  him  of  beginning,  rather  than 
finishing,  a  quiet  evening's  work. 

"  Tiens,  Philippe,"  he  remarked,  glancing  up  as 
though  the  boy  had  only  been  absent  a  few  hours. 
Philip  waited  until  he  had  completed  the  letter  on 


PHILIP  271 

which  he  was  engaged,  and  then  asked  in  proper 
terms  after  his  aunt.  M.  Lemaure  said  she  was  not 
very  well. 

"  What  has  she  been  doing  ?  "  said  Philip  with  a 
frown. 

"  She  had  best,"  said  Monsieur  as  he  addressed  a 
letter,  "  offer  her  own  explanations  perhaps.  She 
will  not  yet  have  retired." 

Philip,  seeing  he  was  not  required,  rose. 

"  Antoine's  gone  to  bed  ?  "  he  said  indifferently, 
stopping  by  his  uncle's  table. 

"  In  bed  and  asleep,  two  hours  ago." 

"  He  is  well  ?  " 

"  In  health,  perfectly."  Monsieur  tossed  aside  the 
answered  letter.  Philip  imagined  the  irritation  of 
the  movement  was  not  wholly  directed  towards  the 
correspondent. 

"  Not  in  spirit,  sir  ?  "  he  ventured  to  suggest. 

"  Bah,  do  not  speak  of  him,"  said  his  uncle,  dis- 
missing the  subject  with  a  shrug.  "  He  has  given 
me  as  much  trouble  as  he  can  for  three  days  past, 
that  is  all.  I  can  do  nothing  with  him.  He  will  not 
even  pretend  to  work,  and  does  not  scruple  to  be 
rude  into  the  bargain.  With  your  English  race,  I 
do  believe,  obstinacy  is  in  the  blood." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Philip,  who  wanted  to  laugh. 
If  Tony  was  naughty  again  he  must  be  recovering. 
"  What's  he  been  up  to  exactly  ?  " 

"  Wednesday,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  throwing  down 
his  pen,  "  it  began.  He  was  perfectly  well-behaved 
after  breakfast  when  he  came  to  me,  and  I  set  him 
his  work  as  usual.  At  four  in  the  afternoon  I  met 
him  on  the  stairs.  I  asked  where  he  was  going  ;  he 
said  out  upon  the  common.  I  told  him  to  be  in  by 
six,  and  I  would  look  over  his  exercises.  He  said 
he  had  not  written  any.  I  asked  him  what  he  had 
done  all  day,  and  he  said,  '  Nothing.'  So  I  told  him 


272  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

he  would  have  to  stay  at  home  and  write  them,  as  I 
must  have  the  work  done  by  six.  '  Oh/  says  monsieur, 
'  I  can't  now  ;  I  am  going  out.'  I  never  suffer  inso- 
lence, as  you  know.  I  shut  him  into  an  empty  room 
with  his  books,  and  informed  him  that  I  expected 
the  work  and  an  apology  at  six." 

"  Didn't  you  get  them  ?  "  said  Philip,  who  was 
interested. 

"  Neither  then  nor  since." 

"He  declared  war,  then  ?  " 

"Revolt,"  M.  Lucien  corrected  sharply.  "That 
little  impertinent — it  is  madness.  I  lock  him  up,  he 
refuses  to  work  ;  I  let  him  out,  he  refuses  to  eat ;  I 
tell  him  to  practise,  he  plays  heaven  knows  what 
absurdities  ;  I  take  away  his  instrument  and  his 
books,  and  he  lets  loose  that  tongue  of  his  until  I 
feel  I  could  box  his  ears.  To-day — the  same  story. 
C'est  de  la  pure  folie." 

He  had  risen  and  was  walking  to  and  fro,  tugging 
at  his  moustache. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,  sir,"  said  Philip  demurely. 
"  Shall  I  tackle  him,  or  would  you  rather  not  ?  " 

Monsieur  stopped  in  front  of  him,  and  considered 
him  with  bent  brows.  He  had  to  look  considerably 
up  to  his  nephew,  but  nothing  could  mar  his  dignity 
of  demeanour. 

"  You  ?  "  he  said.  "  You  have  an  influence, 
perhaps  ?  " 

"Oh,"  said  Philip,  "  we  manage  kids  at  school." 

"  Are  your  methods  not — inartistically  violent  ?  " 

"  Depends  on  the  case,"  said  Philip.  "  I've  put 
on  pressure  before  now ;  but  up  to  the  present  I've 
managed  the  kid  without  that  sort  of  thing.  Only 
they  all  know  it's  there  if  I  want  to  use  it,  you  see, 
which  makes  a  kind  of  difference."  He  looked  most 
lazily  capable  as  he  stood  in  the  lamplight  before 
his  uncle. 


PHILIP  273 

"  Yes,"  said  M.  Lemaure.  "  That  is  the  English 
attitude  precisely."  He  seemed  rather  gratified  to 
meet  it.  "  Well,  Philippe,  should  my  influence  fail, 
I  may  allow  you  to  try  yours." 

Wherewith  he  dismissed  him  and  returned  to  his 
business. 

Philip  paid  a  call  on  his  aunt,  and  found  the  wel- 
come he  expected.  She  was  exclusively  interested 
in  himself  and  his  doings  over  quite  a  long  period, 
in  the  way  most  consoling  to  the  tired  traveller  ;  and 
when  at  last  they  simultaneously  sent  one  another  to 
bed,  he  left  her  feeling  his  confidence  in  himself  and 
the  world  greatly  restored. 

Reaching  his  own  room,  he  discovered,  as  she  had 
promised  him,  his  supper  and  a  fire,  and  he  fed, 
warmed,  and  unpacked  at  leisure.  His  listened  once 
or  twice  at  Antoine's  door — their  rooms  were  adja- 
cent— for  it  had  occurred  to  him  during  his  uncle's 
recital  that  he  might  have  been  dreaming  again — but 
hearing  no  sound,  he  concluded  he  was  securely 
asleep.  So  as  he  felt  rather  wakeful  himself  hi  spite 
of  his  weariness,  he  took  a  book  and  read  by  his  fire 
until  he  was  aroused  by  a  clock  striking  two  ;  which 
reminded  him  that  he  might  do  well  to  go  to  bed. 
It  was  not  till  he  was  in  darkness  that  he  discovered 
by  a  luminous  crack  that  there  was  a  light  in  his 
brother's  room.  "  Reading  in  bed  and  left  his  light 
on,"  thought  Philip,  the  detective  instantly  upper- 
most. So,  as  the  switch  of  the  electric  light  was  in 
reach  by  standing  in  the  doorway,  he  turned  the 
handle  carefully  and  pushed  open  the  door. 

The  first  thing  his  eyes  fell  on  was  the  bed,  which 
except  for  a  small  dog  asleep  on  the  end  of  it,  was 
guiltless  of  occupant :  the  next  was  Antoine  him- 
self, conspicuously  wide  awake  in  an  easy-chair.  The 
table  beside  him  was  littered  with  papers,  but  he  was 
doing  nothing  at  all.  Philip,  struck  motionless  with 

s 


274  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

astonishment  in  the  doorway,  encountered  his  full 
steady  gaze. 

"Well,  I'm  hanged,"  said  Philip,  with  all  the 
expression  he  could  muster. 

Antoine  showed  no  emotion  in  response.  "  You 
are  come,"  was  all  he  said  after  staring  a  little. 

"So  it  seems.     May  I  ask  what  you  are  doing  ?  " 

But  it  seemed  that  Philip  might  not.  As  he  made 
a  motion  to  advance,  Tony  loosened  his  cramped 
limbs,  and  getting  up,  crossed  rather  stiffly  towards 
him. 

"  Is  there  a  fire  there  ?  "  he  said  quickly,  looking 
past  his  brother's  sentinel  figure.  "  Oh,  but  I  shall 
come  then  to  it." 

"  No,  you  won't,"  said  the  elder  promptly,  laying 
hold  of  him.  "  You'll  go  to  bed  jolly  sharp,  or 
you'll  be  sorry  for  it."  He  spoke  brusquely,  for 
he  was  much  disturbed.  Really  a  kid  like  this  was 
too  much  bother.  '  Tact '  is  not  on  the  spot  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  a  little  bracing  would  not 
be  bad  for  him  by  way  of  a  change.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  being  up  at  this  time  of  night  ?  "  said 
Philip,  holding  him  in  a  grasp  there  was  no  resisting. 
"-Just  tell  me  that." 

"  I  am  cold,"  said  Antoine. 

"  I  daresay.  You  can  warm  yourself  by  getting 
into  bed  ;  or  I'll  warm  you  with  a  licking.  Which- 
ever you  like,  but  choose  pretty  sharp." 

The  boy  seemed  to  try  to  speak,  but  he  only  swal- 
lowed something  in  his  throat ;  just  now  he  was 
forbidden  by  some  tyrannous  power  even  the  relief 
of  tears.  Instead,  he  shivered  sharply  under  his 
captor's  clutch. 

"  You  are  cold."  Philip  made  the  discovery  with 
natural  indignation,  sliding  one  of  his  hands  down 
his  arm  to  the  wrist.  "  How  long  have  you  been 
sitting  there  ?" 


PHILIP  275 

'  I  don't  know.     An  hour,  perhaps." 

'  An  hour  ?     When  did  you  come  to  bed  ?  " 

'  At  nine,  I  think." 

'  Nine?    Do  you  know  that's  five  hours  ago  ?  " 

'  Five,  is  it  ?  "  said  Antoine.  "  Then  it  will  soon 
be  light."  He  turned  to  look  wistfully  at  the 
window,  which  was  wide  open,  and  the  night 
air  blowing  in.  In  the  draught  -with  the  open 
door  the  loose  papers  on  the  table  were  growing 
restive.  As  Philip  stood  nonplussed,  still  holding 
him,  one  sheet  slid  off  and  settled  nearly  at  their 
feet.  Antoine,  biting  his  lip,  looked  from  it  to  the 
face  above  him — but  Philip  was  far  from  noticing 
such  a  detail. 

"  If  you're  cold,  why  don't  you  shut  the  window  ?  " 
he  growled. 

Antoine  leant  his  head  back,  breathing  rather 
short.  Shut  the  window — really  it  was  far  too  long 
to  explain  the  connection  between  the  open  window 
and  that  paper  at  their  feet ;  only  one  person  in  the 
world  understood  that  besides  himself,  and  he  was 
many  hundred  miles  away  in  France.  Instead,  he 
turned  his  eyes  longingly  to  the  fire  ;  it  was  warmer 
than  the  stars,  and  might  be  pleasant  for  a  change  ; 
if  Philip  would  but  understand  without  explanation, 
and  let  him  get  to  it. 

And  Philip  miraculously  did.  Something  caught 
him  by  the  throat  as  he  looked  down  at  the  boy's 
face,  sharpened  and  altered  since  he  had  seen  it — 
older,  surely,  he  told  himself.  This  was  not  the 
cheerful  rebel  of  Radfield,  the  imp  who  had  worried 
his  uncle  and  Mr.  Reeves.  Something  hurt  him  in 
Tony's  passive  look  and  attitude  under  the  ridiculous 
force  he  was  exerting. 

"  Come  in  then,  if  you  must,"  he  said  grumpily, 
and  set  him  free.  Instantly  the  boy  stooped  and 
caught  the  paper  up,  slipping  it  under  the  others  on 


276  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

the  table.  Deft  as  he  was,  though,  he  was  unable 
to  be  furtive,  and  so  he  was  betrayed. 

"  Hullo  !  "  Philip  swung  about.  "  That's  what 
you've  been  up  to.  Writing,  is  it  ?  Here,  excuse 
me." 

"  Philippe  !  "  But  despite  the  passionate  cry  of 
protest  he  made  a  raid  on  the  table,  swept  all  the 
papers  together  with  one  turn  of  wrist,  and  holding 
them  easily  out  of  Antoine's  reach,  returned  swiftly 
to  his  room.  There  he  planted  himself  comfortably 
in  his  own  chair  by  the  fireside. 

"  Now  let's  look,"  said  Philip  with  the  greatest 
coolness.  "  All  right,  ducky,  you  can  come."  He 
made  room  benevolently  beside  him,  for  he  was 
excited  and  amused,  to  the  entire  banishment  of  his 
late  annoyance.  "  Get  your  little  hands  warm,  and 
don't  interrupt.  I'm  busy." 

Here  was  a  new  discovery  in  his  world  !  The  idea 
of  Antoine's  venturing  to  write  had  never  occurred 
to  him  once,  though  he  thought  himself  so  well- 
prepared.  He,  who  could  not  produce  a  letter  with- 
out half  a  dozen  mistakes  on  one  page,  to  have 
mapped  out  calmly  on  his  own  account  all  these 
close-packed  sheets  of  music  !  A  great  deal  must 
really  be  excused  any  one  whose  proceedings  were 
so  constantly  new  and  entertaining.  Good  gracious, 
came  the  sudden  thought,  what  would  his  uncle  say  ? 
Imagine  his  expression,  if  he  knew  ! 

"  What,"  said  Philip,  after  an  interval  of  general 
inspection — for  unfortunately  he  could  not  read  a 
line — "  whatever  did  make  you  think  of  doing  it  ?  " 

No  answer  at  all ;  indeed  the  question  was  not  to 
be  answered,  had  he  known.  Philip  glanced  sharply 
sideways. 

"  What's  the  matter,  kiddy  ?  You  don't  mind  my 
looking,  do  you  ?  " 

Antoine  shook  his  head. 


PHILIP  277 

"  It  was  rather  beastly  of  me  to  snatch  it  like 
that,"  said  Philip,  turning  remorseful  at  the  sight  of 
his  white  languor.  "  Tony,  I  say,  you'd  never  think 
I'd  tell  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Antoine,  choking  a  little.  "  It's  all 
right.  It— isn't  that." 

Suddenly  Philip  let  the  papers  slide  from  his  limp 
hand  to  the  floor,  for  an  overpowering  thought  had 
come  to  him.  Tony  knew  !  What  had  he  been 
thinking  of  ?  He  knew  the  truth  of  Archerson's  ill- 
ness and  had  been  bearing  the  knowledge  alone 
all  these  days.  Why  had  such  a  possibility  never 
occurred  to  him  ? 

"  Listen,  Tony,"  he  said  with  decision.  The  hand 
across  Tony's  face  slipped  down,  and  he  turned  his 
eyes  obediently.  "Just  tell  me  now :  you  have  heard 
from  them  ?  " 

"  From  him,"  said  Antoine. 

"  How  long  ago  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  A  long  time.  Perhaps  two  weeks." 

"  A  fortnight  ?  "  Philip  frowned,  puzzled.  "  Good 
news  or  bad  ?  " 

"  Rather  bad,"  with  the  same  languid  indifference. 

"  The  same,  then,  as  she  told  me  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  She  said  he  didn't  know." 

"  He  found  out,"  said  Antoine. 

"  She  didn't  tell  him  ?  "  Tony  shook  his  head.  A 
pause.  "  May  I  see  the  letter  ?  "  said  Philip  doubt- 
fully. 

"No,"  said  Tony  :  adding  after  an  interval,  "  it  is 
burnt  up." 

"  What,"  said  Philip,  rather  low,  "  did  the  little 
brute  say  to  you  ?  "  He  tried  in  vain  to  keep  the 
anger  out  of  his  voice. 

"  Don't,"  said  Antoine  shrinking.  "  It  does  not 
matter  now." 


278  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Why  does  it  not  matter  ?  " 

Complete  silence  fell  on  the  question. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Philip  slowly  at  last.  "  Do  you 
remember  telling  me  the  evening  I  left  home  that 
you  would  talk  to  me  properly  when  it  was  finished  ? 
Well  now,  here's  what  I  think  :  if  it  is  not  finished — 
if  you  are  not  done  with  him  completely  and  utterly 
you  ought  to  be.  The  thing  is  at  an  end  :  it  has  got 
to  be,  once  for  all.  Do  you  hear  ?  "  He  summoned 
his  whole  authority  to  speak. 

"  Yes,"  Antoine  answered.  "  That  is  all  finished. 
He  is  dead." 

Philip  gripped  the  chair  with  a  spasm  of  pure 
terror. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  "  he  cried  angrily.  "  How  do 
you  know  ?  " 

Antoine  winced  again  from  his  exclamation. 

"  Don't,"  he  repeated.     "  It  is  all  right." 

"  But— when  ?  " 

"  The  day  before  yesterday — was  it  ?  "  He  frowned. 
"  Wednesday,  yes.  In  the  evening  at  about  eight." 
He  offered  it  as  the  most  ordinary  piece  of  informa- 
tion. 

"  But — you  can't  have  had  a  letter  since  my  last  ?  " 

"No." 

"  A  telegram  ?  " 

"  No.  The  letter  will  come  perhaps  to-morrow.  I 
should  think  it  would." 

"  Rubbish  !  You're  mad."  Philip  was  furious, 
as  one  is  after  a  useless  fright.  "  You've  been 
dreaming." 

"No,  not  a  dream."  Antoine  made  a  last  effort 
to  explain.  "  Because,  you  see,  it  was  not  the  night 
— this  time.  It  was  eight :  I  had  not  gone  to  bed." 
After  an  anguished  moment,  he  said  with  a  sob, 
"  Perhaps  I  am  mad.  That  will  be  the  best." 

"  Tony  !  "  Philip  caught  him  hastily.     "  See  here, 


PHILIP  279 

my  dear,  I  was  talking  rot.  You're  not  mad — you're 
simply  ill — ill  from  want  of  sleep.  You  haven't  slept 
for  three  nights,  have  you  now  ?  Well  then,  of 
course  you  get  things  wrong — any  one  would.  You're 
as  sane  as  I  am,  and  a  lot  cleverer.  How  could  you 
have  written  all  that  music  if  you  weren't  ?  "  In  all 
his  life  Philip  had  never  used  that  swift  persuasive 
tone  before.  A  great  need  called  it  out,  a  need  that 
summoned  all  the  best  of  him,  head  and  heart.  For 
the  minute,  codes  were  laid  aside,  and  he  did  not 
care  the  least  what  he  said  or  did.  Any  one  could 
have  seen  Henriette  Lemaure's  careless  passion  flash 
through  him  at  that  moment,  as  he  pulled  the  boy 
close  to  him.  "  You've  only  got  to  sleep  and  forget 
about  it,"  he  said  presently  in  a  steadier  voice  : 
"  Look  here,  come  and  sleep  with  me — would  you 
like  to  ?  "  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  did  not  want 
to  leave  him  alone. 

Antoine,  who  had  been  motionless  hitherto,  roused 
nervously  at  the  suggestion. 

"  There  is  Max,"  he  said,  referring  to  the  dog.  "  And 
that — the  score."  He  stretched  his  hand  towards  the 
papers  on  the  floor.  "  I  must  take  it  back." 

Philip  rolled  them  up  and  let  him  take  one  end, 
but  retained  his  hold  on  the  other. 

"  Rot,"  he  said.  "  Max  won't  eat  them,  will  he  ? 
I'll  put  them  back  just  where  I  took  them  from, 
honour  bright,  and  you  stop  here  in  the  warm. 
Come  now." 

Antoine  hesitated.  The  fire  no  doubt  was  good, 
though  he  rather  longed  to  get  back  to  his  big  win- 
dow with  the  stars.  Philip  himself  was  big  and 
splendid,  and  more  gentle  than  he  had  remembered, 
in  the  quite  incredible  interval  since  he  left  that 
house.  He  decided  to  spare  further  talking  and  to 
trust  him,  and  he  left  the  paper  roll  in  his  handy 
though  he  kept  an  eye  on  it  anxiously. 


280  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  I  think  I  shall  stick  it  in  the  fire,"  said  Philip 
who  was  recovering  himself,  mocking  the  look.  "  It 
can't  really  be  good  for  much  at  your  age.  Are  you 
coming  to  bed  ?  "  he  added,  stopping  carelessly  be- 
side him.  His  indifference  to  what  he  was  carrying 
was  in  Antoine's  eyes  extraordinary.  He  stooped 
and  picked  up  the  composer  too,  as  if  he  were  a 
mere  extra,  and  dropped  him  into  bed  on  his  way 
through  to  Antoine's  own  beloved,  cold,  starry  room. 
He  stayed  there  a  little,  arranging  the  sheets  metho- 
dically just  as  he  had  found  them  ;  then  there  came 
the  clash  of  the  window  closing,  and  a  pacifying 
word  to  the  dog.  Lastly,  returning,  Philip  shut  the 
door  with  some  resentment. 

"How  you  can  live  in  such  a  draught,"  he  said. 
"  Good  heavens,  if  it  isn't  striking  three  !  Go  to 
sleep  this  instant,  you  disgraceful  kid  !  " 


II 

PHILIP  awoke  to  disturbing  reflections,  not  reduced 
by  the  discovery  that  he  was  alone  in  his  room. 
Worrying  at  daybreak  is  no  joke,  and  the  conse- 
quence was  that  he  was  punctual  at  breakfast.  His 
uncle,  who  usually  had  to  dispense  with  his  company 
at  that  meal  in  the  holidays,  exclaimed  with  ironical 
congratulation  ;  his  aunt  with  affectionate  reproach. 
She  had,  it  appeared,  come  downstairs  herself  in  order 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  sending  his  breakfast  up  to  him. 

"  You  see,"  as  M.  Lemaure  remarked  to  Philip, 
"  you  have  cured  her  already." 

Tony  was  there,  but  not  apparently  eating.  This 
did  not  particularly  surprise  anybody,  for  he  had  a 
habit  of  rising  at  unconscionable  hours  and  procuring 
food  on  his  own  account  in  the  servants'  quarters  ; 
though  he  generally  condescended  to  appear  at  the 
family  meal,  and  give  them  the  benefit  of  his  com- 
pany and  conversation.  What  was  remarkable  to-day 
was  that  he  was  not  talking.  His  aunt,  who  was 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  he  was  in  disgrace,  was 
concerned  at  his  silence  and  his  pallor  ;  and  Tony 
was  not  sorry  when  Philip  appeared  to  distract  her 
attention  from  him. 

"  Has  the  post  come  ?  "  was  Philip's  first  question. 

"  Yes,  dear.     Were  you  expecting  anything  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  specially."  He  shot  a  glance  at  Tony, 
who  shook  his  head. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Philip,  angry  at  his  own  relief. 
"  Perhaps  he  will  be  sober  now." 

281 


282  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

The  meal  proceeded  with  very  little  spoken.  What 
talking  there  was  was  between  Philip  and  his  aunt. 
M.  Lucien  looked  severe  over  his  letters  and  his 
French  newspaper,  and  vouchsafed  not  a  glance  in 
Antoine's  direction. 

At  last,  very  near  the  end  of  breakfast,  he  spoke. 
Madame  had  been  lamenting  the  absence  among  her 
letters  of  one  she  expected  from  Paris.  At  the  men- 
tion of  it  her  husband  woke  up. 

"  I  had  forgotten,  Cecile,"  he  said.  "  A  letter  came 
for  you  by  the  ten  o'clock  post  last  night.  I  intended 
to  send  it  up  by  Philippe  and  forgot.  Antoine  !  " 
The  boy  started.  "  Go  and  fetch  the  two  letters  with 
foreign  stamps  on  the  study  chimney-piece." 

"  Two  ?  "  Madame  queried,  as  the  boy  left  the  room. 

"  There  is  one  for  Philippe,  too.  I  laid  them  there 
to  remember,  and  then  for  some  reason  forgot.  They 
were  before  our  eyes  while  we  were  talking." 

Philip  bit  his  lip.  So  he  had  been  jesting  within  a 
few  yards  of  the  letter — while  Tony 

Antoine  delivered  the  two  letters  to  their  respective 
owners,  and  then,  completing  the  circuit  of  the  table, 
halted  by  his  uncle. 

"  Well  ? "  said  that  gentleman,  without  looking  at 
him. 

"  Shall  I  come  to  you  at  ten  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Will  you  have  anything  to  show  me,  is  the  ques- 
tion ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Antoine.     "  I  have  done  all  that." 

"  Humph.    When,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  This  morning." 

"Ah,  very  well.  Have  you  anything  further  to  say 
to  me  ?  " 

Antoine  knew  exactly  what  it  was  necessary  to  say. 
His  apology,  if  a  trifle  mechanical,  had  the  pretty 
completeness  of  which  the  French  language  is 
capable.  M.  Lemaure  accepted  it  with  dignity,  and 


PHILIP  283 

with  a  gesture  dismissed  him.  The  boy  turned,  and 
went  slowly  out  into  the  sunny  garden. 

"  That  then  is  the  explanation,"  said  Madame,  who 
had  stopped  her  reading  to  attend  to  the  little  scene. 
She  glanced  questioningly  at  her  husband,  and  then  at 
Philip,  but  both  were  silent.  "  He  looks  ill,"  she  said 
doubtfully,  following  the  boy  with  her  eyes.  ' '  I  wish, 
Lucien,  that  you  would  not  give  Antoine  work  to  do 
in  the  early  morning.  It  cannot  be  good  for  him  to 
get  up  at  such  impossible  hours." 

"  I  give  him  work  he  is  welcome  to  do  at  whatever 
time  he  pleases,"  said  Monsieur.  "  If  he  chooses  to 
waste  his  time  later  in  the  day,  he  had  better  work 
early.  It  cannot  hurt  him  if  he  goes  to  bed  in  good 
time." 

"  If  !  "  Philip  could  not  resist  ejaculating.  His 
uncle  turned  to  him. 

"  He  went  to  bed  last  night  quite  soon  enough,  if 
he  went  when  I  sent  him." 

Philip  was  silent. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dear  ?  "  his  aunt  inquired. 
"  Was  he  not  asleep  when  you  went  up  ?  " 

"  He  was  neither  asleep  nor  in  bed.  I  know  exactly 
when  he  got  into  bed.  It  was  just  three  o'clock.  I 
suppose,  as  he  says  he  has  done  that  stuff  this  morn- 
ing, that  he  got  up  before  seven." 

Madame  exclaimed  in  horror. 

"  Was  this  perhaps  the  tardy  working  of  remorse  ?  " 
her  husband  suggested  to  his  newspaper.  Philip 
sniff  edjslightly. 

"  How  do  you  know  when  he  got  into  bed  ?  "  said 
Madame.  "  Did  he  wake  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  awake.  He  slept  with  me."  He  coloured 
as  he  confessed  it.  There  was  a  surprised  pause. 

"  Ah,"  said  his  uncle.  "  Then  it  was  your  influence 
that  brought  him  to  reason,  after  all." 

"  Of  course  it  was,'"  said  Madame.   She  gathered 


284  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

up  her  letters,  and  rose  ;  as  she  passed  Philip,  she 
pulled  his  head  back  and  lightly  kissed  his  dark  fore- 
lock. Monsieur,  whose  eye  was  on  her  proceedings, 
made  a  slight  expressive  sound. 

"  Well  !  "  said  Madame,  challenging  him.  "Is  it 
not  a  disgrace,  Philippe,  that  I  cannot  remain  up- 
stairs for  two  days  without  those  two  quarrelling  ?  " 

"  That,"  said  Monsieur,  "  is  how  you  express  the 
conduct  of  a  naughty  boy." 

"  It  was  my  intention,"  said  Madame,  "  to  express 
the  conduct  of  two  naughty  boys.  You  know  you 
lost  your  temper,  Lucien.  You  always  do.  Well, 
Philippe  kept  his — did  you  not,  dearest  ?  And  behold 
— you  see."  She  spread  her  hands  to  indicate  the 
reign  of  the  olive-branch. 

Philip  laughed  shortly,  in  spite  of  his  worry,  at  this 
representation  of  the  incident. 

"  You  talk,"  M.  Lemaure  took  the  trouble  to  point 
out,  "as  if  the  naughtiness  of  the  boy  himself  were 
an  inevitable  evil." 

"Ah,"  said  Madame,  "  I  was  a  naughty  girl  myself." 
She  sighed  softly.  "  It  was  excessively  agreeable 
while  it  lasted,  and  I  remember  how  tiresome  it  was 
to  submit.  I  felt  for  that  little  boy  just  now.  Yet  I 
agree  with  him,"  she  added,  as  he  was  about  to  speak, 
"  that  it  is  better  to  do  it  well  when  one  does  it.  Oh, 
I  have  disconcerted  others  so  often  by  the  grace  of 
my  apologies  !  Artistically,  do  you  see,  it  is  a  good 
effect." 

Monsieur  did  not  see  :  in  fact,  Madame  did  not 
think  for  a  moment  that  he  would.  When  by  any 
chance  he  agreed  with  her,  she  always  regretted  it 
deeply.  "  In  this  country,  Cecile,"  he  observed,  "  a 
good  old  custom  holds  that  the  other  side  may  get, 
inartistically,  a  still  better  effect,  by  whipping  the 
culprit." 

"The  English — ah,  yes."     Madame  wrinkled  up 


PHILIP  285 

her  nose.  "  They  teach  you  like  that  at  your  ferocious 
schools,  do  they  not,  Philippe  ?  To  break  the  spirit — 
that  is  the  phrase,  is  it  not  ?  Very  well :  and  when 
it  is  broken,  what  then  ?  Can  they  mend  it  again,  I 
wonder  ?  Can  you  join  the  ends  of  your  strings  when 
they  are  broken,  Lucien  ?  And  what  then  becomes 
of  the  spirit  ?  Such  a  spirited  people,  this  eh  ?  Tant 
d'esprit  et  de  verve.  Oh,  je  m'en  moque  !  " 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  saw  the  paper,  sir  ?  "  said  Philip, 
as  soon  as  she  had  gone. 

The  English  newspaper,  still  folded,  lay  at  his 
uncle's  elbow. 

"  Pardon,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  extending  it  at  once. 
"  Evidently  I  behave  like  the  dog  in  the  fable.  With- 
out your  Parliament  I  imagined  you  did  not  value  it." 

"  There's  a  thing  I  want  to  look  for,"  Philip  hastily 
explained. 

"  Crick-ette,"  said  his  uncle,  who  had  a  great  idea 
he  had  fathomed  the  English  race,  having  lived  for  a 
year  amongst  them.  He  returned  to  his  own  read- 
ing content  with  his  discernment :  and  Philip  was 
thankful  that  he  did.  "  Fatal  accident  at  Vevey," 
caught  his  eye  at  the  bottom  of  the  second  page  he 
turned.  It  was  badly  reported  in  a  couple  of  lines  ; 
but  the  name  Archerson  was  rightly  given,  and  the 
date  was  Wednesday  of  that  week. 

Philip,  slightly  flushed  by  pure  excitement,  let  the 
paper  slide  to  the  floor,  and  sat  for  a  minute  or  so 
absently  twisting  with  his  finger  a  certain  lock  at  the 
back  of  his  head,  which  he  always  consulted  in  per- 
plexity. Then  he  laid  hands  almost  violently  on  the 
letter  which  lay  still  unopened  before  him,  and  bore 
it  to  the  privacy  of  his  room. 

"You  will  have  seen  in  the  papers,"  Mrs.  Archerson 
began,  "  that  my  boy  was  drowned  by  an  accident 


286  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

on  Wednesday  afternoon.  I  was  not  there,  so  I 
scarcely  yet  know  how  it  happened.  A  friend  of 
ours  at  Vevey  has  an  electric  launch,  and  though  it 
seemed  to  me  too  cold  for  Douglas  to  go  out  with 
him  that  day,  he  insisted,  and  went.  He  has  not 
been  well  lately,  and  I  suppose  he  turned  faint  or 
giddy.  However  it  was,  on  landing  he  fell  from  the 
end  of  the  little  pier  straight  into  the  deep  water. 
He  made  no  effort,  they  say,  to  save  himself  or  swim, 
and  sank  instantly.  My  friend  sprang  in  at  once, 
but  owing  to  some  difficulty  with  the  boats  moored 
by  the  pier,  it  was  some  time  before  he  was  brought 
to  land,  and  then  it  was  too  late  to  save  him.  That 
was  just  after  four  ;  he  never  recovered  conscious- 
ness, and  died  at  eight  o'clock. 

"  I  reproach  myself  now  that  I  did  not  tell  him  all 
the  truth.  I  am  justly  repaid  by  what  I  suffer.  If 
he  had  known  what  threatened  him  he  might  have 
been  less  imprudent.  I  do  not  believe  in  any  case 
I  could  have  kept  him  for  many  years,  for  the  doctors 
were  much  dissatisfied  these  last  weeks  ;  and  this  is 
no  doubt  a  swift  and  easy  death  in  comparison  with 
what  might  have  been  his.  They  tell  me  so,  and  in 
words  I  accept  it.  But  reason  does  not  touch  us 
mothers,  Philip.  From  the  moment  he  was  driven 
from  school — for  foolish  causes,  no  doubt — I  felt  my 
reason  slipping,  though  I  have  guarded  it  so  boast- 
fully. Now  with  time  I  may  adapt  myself,  and  I 
trust  I  may.  For  the  present,  God  bless  you  and 
good-bye." 

In  a  postscript : 

"  I  should  like  to  write  to  Tony,  but  I  find  I  can- 
not. Tell  him  that  Douglas  never  ceased  to  be  fond 
of  him.  I  believe  all  these  last  weeks  he  was  longing 
to  have  him  here." 

Philip  stopped,  thinking  it  over  for  a  long  time 


PHILIP  287 

his  head  in  his  hands.  He  felt  singularly  helpless 
and  adrift.  Eight  o'clock — the  very  time  Tony  had 
said  to  him  :  four  o'clock,  the  hour  at  which  his 
uncle  had  met  him  in  that  wild  state  of  excitement 
on  the  stairs.  He  was  terribly  sorry  for  Mrs.  Archer- 
son — he  was  appalled  ;  but  the  other  problem  came 
obstinately  back  to  oust  his  sympathy  and  sorrow. 
What  was  the  solution  of  these  things  ?  Had  he 
been  dreaming  himself  ?  Was  he  going  mad  as  well 
as  Tony  ?  " 

Rising  at  last,  he  laid  the  letter  carefully  among 
the  manuscript  papers  on  Antoine's  table.  He  should 
read  it  all — it  was  his  right.  Philip  was  not  going 
to  hand  him  stupid  meaningless  messages.  All  the 
truth  there  was  should  be  his,  dreadful  though  it  was. 
Then  Philip  locked  the  communicating  door,  and 
meeting  Antoine  in  the  lower  hall,  he  put  the  key 
into  his  hand.  The  boy  understood  completely, 
as  it  seemed,  for  he  took  it  with  a  single  word  of 
gratitude  before  he  went  on  to  his  deferred  lesson  in 
the  study. 

After  that  Philip  returned  to  write  to  Mrs.  Archer- 
son.  What  he  wrote  he  hardly  knew,  for  he  did  not 
stop  to  compose,  but  wrote  in  a  flash  all  he  had  most 
longed  to  say  for  weeks.  The  letter  was  probably  a 
remarkable  one,  for  Philip  in  excitement  wrote  easily 
and  well.  He  begged  her  to  send  something,  just  a 
line,  to  Antoine  himself,  and,  if  she  could  anyhow 
do  it,  to  contradict  some  accusation  of  Nick's  that 
was  troubling  him  ;  what  it  was  Philip  had  no  means 
of  knowing,  but  she  might.  If  she  did  not  write 
something  soon,  said  Philip,  he  might  go  off  his  head. 
There  he  left  it  suddenly,  and  signed  himself ;  then 
closed  and  addressed  it,  allowing  himself  no  time 
for  second  thoughts,  and  locked  it  away  with  a  sigh 
of  relief  until  he  should  have  a  chance  to  post  it 
securely. 


288  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Among  other  reflections,  Philip  had  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  he  would  do  well  to  tell  his  aunt  the 
news  he  had  received  ;  but,  incorrigibly  shy  as  the 
subject  made  him,  he  put  it  off  all  the  morning,  and 
was  repaid  for  doing  so  after  lunch. 

"  Apropos,  Philippe,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  "  did  you 
see  this  in  your  paper  about  the  accident  ?  I  noticed 
the  name,  which  is  an  uncommon  one,  and  remarked 
on  it  to  Antoine  before  you  came  in.  Where  is  it — 
let  me  see  " 

"  All  right,"  said  Philip  briefly,  "  I  have  seen  it." 

M.  Lemaure  glanced  at  him.  He  had  sent  Antoine 
back  to  his  work  some  time  before,  obviously  set  on 
his  making  up  for  lost  time.  The  boy,  who  was 
"  tame  "  and  dreamy  again,  made  no  objection  ;  but 
the  master,  who  had  lighted  a  cigarette,  was  in  no 
hurry  to  join  him. 

"  I  could  not  discover  from  Antoine's  manner, 
whether  it  was  likely  to  be  the  family  he  knew,  or 
another." 

"  It's  the  same,"  said  Philip. 

"  You  English  are  so  singular,"  said  Monsieur, 
with  a  glance  at  his  wife  for  sympathy.  "No  one 
would  have  guessed  he  cared  for  the  boy  at  all.  Yet 
he  did,  you  think — eh  ?  " 

"  He  cared  for  him  a  bit,"  said  Philip. 

"He  was  a  disagreeable  boy,"  said  Madame 
thoughtfully.  "He  seemed  to  me  to  be  rude  to 
everybody,  and  worst  to  Antoine.  Perhaps,  a  la  fin, 
the  little  one  resented  it."  It  was  a  suggestion,  but 
Philip  made  no  response,  so  she  continued.  "  But 
I  am  sorry  for  the  mother,  very.  She  interested  me 
remarkably.  It  is  so  strange  I  should  have  had  a 
presentiment  about  her.  I  recall  it  clearly  now. 
Will  Antoine  write,  do  you  think  ?  I  should  wish 
him  to  send  a  message  for  me  if  he  does." 

"  I  don't  think  he  will,"  said  Philip,  clenching  his 


PHILIP  289 

hand  uncomfortably.  Every  word  publicly  spoken 
on  the  subject  seemed  to  thrust  the  cloak  of  reticence 
further  upon  him.  It  seemed  strange  to  him  that 
his  aunt,  of  all  people,  should  set  his  teeth  on  edge 
by  the  perfectly  kind  and  natural  comments  she 
made. 

Madame,  whose  present  object  was  to  beguile  her 
husband  to  linger  a  little  in  her  society,  diverted  the 
talk  to  more  interesting  matters.  Philip  remained 
in  his  seat,  having  a  demand  to  make  of  his  uncle 
when  he  could  catch  a  happy  moment ;  and  in  the 
conjunction  of  tobacco  and  Madame  the  happy 
moment  seemed  probable.  Also  his  aunt  was  always 
entertaining  to  watch,  and  he  was  very  willing  to  be 
distracted  from  his  inward  debates.  She  was  on  the 
subject  of  her  reception  of  the  morrow,  a  fortnightly 
affair  to  which  she  gave  much  attention,  and  in  which 
M.  Lemaure's  musical  co-operation  was  important. 

"  The  salon  is  so  small,"  said  Madame  reflectively. 
"  And  your  instruments  sound  better  in  the  organ- 
room,  do  they  not  ?  See  then,  my  friend,  I  shall 
feed  my  world  out  of  doors,  if  the  weather  remains 
so  fine,  and  bring  them  in  there  when  you  are  ready. 
You  will  not  consent  to  play  on  the  lawn  ?  " 

"  A  string  quartette  ?     Certainly  not !  " 

"  So  I  imagined,"  said  Madame.  "  You  regard  the 
health  of  your  violins  so  much  more  than  that  of 
your  guests.  Solid  German  music,  of  course  ?  Alas, 
I  would  keep  it  for  the  winter  hours.  In  the  fire- 
light, yes — it  is  perfect.  But  with  the  garden  as  it 
is,  who  wants  to  go  indoors  ?  " 

The  first-rate  music  she  offered  was  naturally  a 
chief  attraction  of  her  parties  ;  but  she  wished  to 
incite  argument.  M.  Lemaure's  eyebrows  went  up, 
a  good  beginning. 

"  Personally,  I  would  drop  it  gladly.  What  with 
Falkner's  irregularity,  and  Antoine's  silliness,  we 

T 


290  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

have  nothing  really  fit  to  play.     Is  Lady  Croome 
coming  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  Was  it  not  she  who  required  your 
new  Russian  one  ?  " 

"These  ladies  and  their  requirements,"  said  M. 
Lemaure,  and  puffed  a  little.  "  Still,  if  she  comes, 
it  is  advisable  to  make  an  effort,  eh  ?  " 

"  Why  trouble  ?  "  said  Madame,  who  knew  he  was 
set  on  it.  "  I  mean,  if  it  is  a  sacrifice  for  that  poor 
Falkner  to  come  so  far — with  that  huge  instrument 
— fat  as  he  is " 

"  And  what  of  my  sacrifice  ?  "  snapped  Monsieur. 
"  My  single  afternoon  of  rest :  no  chance  to  see  my 
guests." 

"  But  you  will  not  miss  much,"  Madame  consoled 
him.  "  Except  Lady  Croome,  it  is  the  ugly  ones 
to-morrow.  Indeed,  considering  the  list,  I  think  I 
envy  you,  planted  there  behind  your  instruments. 
Philippe  " — she  changed  the  direction  of  her  eyes — 
"  will  represent  you  excellently." 

"  Sorry,"  said  Philip.  "I've  got  to  play  tennis 
with  the  rector's  kids  to-morrow.  Frightfully  old 
engagement." 

"Two  seconds  old,"  said  Madame.  "As  if  the 
rector  ever  allowed  Sunday  tennis  !  I  cannot  pos- 
sibly do  without  you,  darling.  You  are  invaluable 
to  carry  tea  in  a  crowd,  since  you  hold  it  naturally 
above  one's  head.  Also  Lady  Croome  is  longing  to 
meet  you.  There  is  a  little  nephew  of  hers  who 
goes  to  your  school  next  term 

"  Any  one  but  the  rector,"  Philip  cut  in  with  feel- 
ing. "  I  couldn't  possibly  break  a  promise  to  the 
poor  old  fellow.  Beastly  sorry,  Madame." 

"  When  did  you  begin  to  care  for  the  Church, 
Philippe  ?  "  asked  his  uncle.  "  Well  then,  Cecile, 
that  settles  it,  eh  ?  I  abandon  the  quartette  and 
come  to  your  aid." 


PHILIP  291 

"Can  the  quartette  do  without  you  ?  "  said  Madame 
innocently.  "  Oh,  pardon,  I  mistook  you  :  you  would 
give  it  up.  Well — I  am  a  poor  woman — but  I  cannot 
accept  such  a  sacrifice,  Lucien.  I  will  do  my  best 
alone." 

With  an  air  of  vast  satisfaction,  she  rose.  She 
was  never  so  happy  as  when  entertaining  the  entire 
county,  as  the  males  present  knew  perfectly.  Any 
one  unfortunate  enough  to  assist  her  was  liable  to 
overwork  at  the  time,  and  abuse  afterwards. 

"  Don't  worry,  dearest,"  she  said,  passing  Philip. 
"  You  shall  go  to  your  enchanting  rector.  After  all, 
Antoine  is  ten  times  better  in  society  than  you.  I 
will  throw  Antoine  as  a  sop  to  Lady  Croome  when 
your  uncle  has  finished  with  him.  I  have  no  doubt 
he  will  imitate  her  lisp  afterwards,  but  I  cannot  help 
that.  Are  you  going  to  walk  this  afternoon,  dear  ?  " 

"Well,  I  mustn't  lose  my  form,"  said  Philip, 
stretching  his  arms.  "  Do  you  mind  if  I  take  the 
kid,  sir  ?  He  seems  a  bit  stale.  You  can  do  without 
him,  can't  you  ?  "  he  added,  seeing  his  uncle's  face. 

"  With  the  quartette  coming  to  practise  ?  How 
should  I  do  without  him,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

"  Call  it  a  trio,"  said  Philip  crossly — though  he  did 
not  speak  too  loud.  "  What  can  it  matter  for  once  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me,  it  matters  particularly.  He  is  the 
last  who  should  be  spared,  since  it  is  he  who  has 
wasted  the  time.  Do  without  him  indeed  !  "  M. 
Lucien  repeated  indignantly.  "  I  wish  I  could.  He 
certainly  does  not  deserve  the  place,  after  such 
behaviour." 

"  Let  him  off,  then,"  said  Philip,  boldly.  Then, 
temporising  as  his  uncle  turned  :  "  If  he  has  not  time 
•to  do  it  properly,  I  mean,  where's  the  use  ?  " 

"  The  use,"  said  his  uncle  with  decision,  "  of 
necessity.  He  will  have  to  work  the  more — and  I 
too,  bien  entendu.  I  must  find  the  time  somewhere  " 


292  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

— he  turned  to  his  wife  to  complain — "  to  take  him 
through  his  part  in  the  new  one.  He  is  scarcely 
even  note-perfect  yet." 

"They  will  never  notice,"  Madame  murmured. 
It  was  a  safe  match  to  the  mine.  Monsieur  instantly 
exploded. 

"  What  do  I  care  what  they  notice  or  what  they 
miss  ?  It  is  what  I  notice  that  matters.  If  I  ever 
hear  you  suggest  to  him  to  regard  his  audience " 

"  Dearest,"  said  Madame,  delighted,  "  it  is  the  last 
thing  I  should  suggest.  As  I  have  said,  they  will 
not  be  worth  regarding,  by  the  eyes  of  artists  such 
as  you  and  Antoine.  I  advise  you  earnestly  to  look 
away." 

"I  will  have  him  look  at  me,  or  know  the  reason 
why."  The  explosion  subsided  slowly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Madame,  "  even  that  would  be  better, 
poor  child.  Only,  for  the  sake  of  all  of  us,  do  not 
look  like  that." 

"  Like  what  ? — you  are  impossible,  Cecile."  But 
he  had  to  melt,  and  she  laughed  in  triumph. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  she.  "  Now  go  to  the  little 
one,  and  be  gentle  with  him.  I  will  not  have  tyrants 
in  my  house." 

"  Psst,"  said  Monsieur  passing  her.  "  Is  it  my 
fault  if  you  have  ?  "  And  therewith  he  withdrew 
in  very  fair  good-humour. 

Madame  would  have  followed  him,  but  some  note 
in  Philip's  attitude  caught  her  eye.  She  never  missed 
the  slightest  change  in  him  :  and  when  she  seemed 
most  careless  she  noticed  most.  Unexpectedly  now, 
she  came  back  from  the  door  and  slipped  her  arms 
round  his  neck.  "  Is  anything  troubling  you  ?  "  she 
asked  him.  She  had  the  actress's  range  of  tones  ; 
but  unlike  the  actress,  she  had  one  of  her  own  most 
natural  and  soft. 

The  boy  bent  his  head  quickly  to  kiss  her  delicate 


PHILIP  293 

hands,  but  he  did  not  speak.  It  surprised  him  how 
hard  he  found  it  to  put  any  of  his  difficulty  into 
words.  It  was  all  so  formless,  he  felt ;  and  this  little 
aunt,  devoted  as  she  was,  had  such  searching  critical 
powers.  Somewhere  in  him  moved  a  dread  that  she 
might  ridicule  what  his  own  instinct  held  to  be 
serious.  That  dread,  and  his  shyness,  together  held 
him  from  speech.  He  sought  for  expressions,  and 
found  none  to  use. 

Madame  saw  the  trouble  gather  on  his  brow. 
Striving  herself  to  help  him  she  ran  rapidly  in  mind 
over  the  late  conversation.  "  It  is  your  brother  you 
need  for  this  walk  ?  You  want  to  talk  to  him  alone, 
perhaps  ?  "  She  recalled  how  he  had  managed  the 
boy  for  her  husband.  "  But  he  is  quite  good  now, 
I  think.  One  tells  so  easily  by  Lucien's  eyebrows 
how  it  goes." 

"  Do  you  think  he's — w<  11  ?  "  It  was  an  immense 
effort  to  say  it. 

"  Well— the  little  boy  ?  Surely.  Why,  I  ask  you 
to  notice  the  lunch  he  ate." 

"  I  know,"  said  Philip.  "  He's  always  hungry." 
He  paused,  unwilling  himself  to  point  out  the  differ- 
ence between  the  body  and  the  mind — for  was  not 
that  to  admit  the  mind  attacked  ?  Boy-like,  he 
would  not  face  it. 

"  Possibly,"  said  Madame  pensively,  "  the  change 
from  bread  and  water  is  attractive.  Your  uncle 
imprisoned  him,  did  he  not  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Philip.  "  But  Yvonne  fed  him," 
he  added,  driven  to  be  honest. 

"  In  which  case  he  got  jam  as  well."  Madame 
laughed  softly.  "That  little  rebel— but  I  like  it. 
It  must  be  amusing  when  he  faces  Lucien — only 
one  never  sees  it  happen.  It  is  so  good  for  Lucien, 
too."  She]  sighed.  "  Well,  I  must  go  and  rest, 
unless  there  are  further  difficulties,  darling  ? " 


294  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Not  enough  to  prevent  your  resting,"  said 
Philip.  It  was  engagingly  said,  and  she  rewarded 
him  for  it.  More  subtly  emphasised,  the  words  used 
might  have  sounded  like  a  reproach.  But  Philip 
was  far  from  reproaching  ;  he  only  felt  her  rather 
remote,  and  himself  a  little  smaller  and  more  in- 
capable than  before.  And  when  she  had  gone,  he 
shook  himself,  and  went  out  to  walk  alone. 

It  was  while  he  was  out  that  he  took  the  resolution 
that  resulted  after  supper  in  his  writing  another 
letter.  It  caused  him  many  doubts  even  while  he 
wrote,  but  he  got  to  the  end  and  fastem  d  it  up.  It 
was  addressed  to  Paris,  to  a  well-known  name,  and 
taken  all  together,  it  was  in  Philip's  terms  the 
cheekiest  thing  he  had  ever  done  in  his  life.  To 
complain  to  his  grandfather  of  his  uncle — that  was 
what  it  amounted  to  in  brief  ;  on  his  own  responsi- 
bility, with  no  clear  charge  to  offer,  to  complain  and 
appeal  to  his  uncle's  own  father  !  Philip,  thinking 
it  over,  was  really  quite  surprised  at  himself.  M. 
Lemaure  was  strict  on  certain  points  of  etiquette, 
particularly  within  the  family,  and  Philip  knew  that 
his  confidence  in  his  eldest  son  was  complete  and 
profound.  Antoine's  somewhat  unusual  measure  of 
deference  to  his  present  master  was  itself  the  result 
of  more  than  one  ancient  lesson  at  headquarters, 
when  he  had  let  his  young  tongue  express  itself  too 
freely.  M.  Lemaure  would  far  sooner  suffer  dis- 
respect himself  than  see  it  offered  to  one  who  had 
been  called  the  least  gifted  of  his  sons  ;  and  scarcely 
suspecting  the  reason,  the  boys  had  learnt  to  reflect 
the  attitude. 

In  addition  to  this,  the  last  thing  Philip  cared  to 
be  thought  was  presumptuous.  His  vanity  erred  by 
preference  on  the  other  side.  He  would  much  rather 
let  things  slide  than  risk  being  bidden  to  mind  his 


PHILIP  295 

business  by  those  he  really  respected.  His  grand- 
father would  snub  him  kindly,  but  that  made  it  worse, 
if  possible  ;  and  the  more  he  turned  it  over,  the  more 
resentment  he  felt  at  having  to  risk  it.  He  glared 
at  the  letter  lying  before  him,  teasing  his  lock  of 
hair  until  it  stood  rakishly  upright.  Suppose  it 
should  make  him  really  angry,  as  Tony  had  made 
him  on  the  occasion  Philip  remembered ;  he  felt 
again  the  shrinking  it  had  given  him  to  witness  it 
then.  Philip's  adoration  of  his  grandfather  lay  at  the 
very  root  of  his  existence,  and  he  had  never  yet  had 
to  make  him  angry.  Why  he  should  commit  him- 
self to  such  a  possibility  without  clear  necessity 
shown,  was  the  question  he  asked  his  own  perturbed 
feelings. 

"  Monsieur's  letters  are  ready  ?  "  said  the  voice  of 
Madame's  maid  behind  him. 

Philip  sighed,  abandoned  his  lock,  and  addressed 
the  envelope.  Then  he  stamped  that  and  Mrs. 
Archerson's  and  offered  them  to  the  girl.  "That's 
all,"  he  said.  "  Thanks  awfully,  Yvonne." 

She  had  offered  to  post  them  for  him,  and,  since 
she  was  the  one  person  in  the  house  he  trusted  as 
completely  as  himself,  he  confided  them  to  her  with- 
out scruple. 

Yvonne,  who  had  taken  some  milk  into  Antoine's 
room,  came  back  to  the  light  to  receive  them. 

"  Merci,  monsieur.     M.  Antoine  is  not  come  up 

yet." 

"  Isn't  he  ?  "  said  Philip,  turning.  "  What  time  is 
it — nine  ?  I  expect  my  uncle's  keeping  him  over 
time  for  to-morrow." 

"  The  milk  will  be  cold,"  said  Yvonne. 

"  I'll  drink  it,"  said  Philip.  "  You  can  bring  him 
up  some  more."  He  looked  at  her  quizzically  as 
she  stood  before  him.  Yvonne  Fantec  had  been  his 
youthful  playmate  on  the  Breton  sands,  and  was  his 


296  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

own  age  to  a  day.  He  had  then  bullied  her  freely, 
but  now  at  eighteen  things  were  reversed,  and  Philip 
was  decidedly  afraid  of  her.  She  was  indeed  a  cha- 
racter, and  at  this  moment  in  look  and  manner  she 
might  have  been  ten  years  older  than  the  boy  she 
faced.  She  was  a  very  pretty  girl ;  but  though 
Madame  appreciated  pretty  things  about  her,  Yvonne 
would  not  have  held  her  present  place  a  week  if  she 
had  not  been  quite  as  capable  as  pretty.  She  was 
actually  as  accomplished  as  many  an  English  earl's 
daughter,  better  mannered,  and  a  good  deal  better 
dressed.  But  holding  the  position  of  a  lady's  maid, 
she  was  not  celebrated  beyond  the  doors  of  her  own 
household.  Within  those  doors,  however,  it  must 
be  owned,  Yvonne  made  herself  felt. 

"I'm  exhausted,  you  know,"  said  Philip,  becoming 
pathetic.  "I've  been  working  like  the  deuce  ;  you 
might  bring  me  something  nice  too." 

Yvonne  smiled  slightly,  glancing  down  at  what 
she  held.  "Two  letters — and  M.  Lemaure  gave  me 
eleven.  Can  Monsieur  possibly  wait  till  I  return  ? 
Then  I  will  see  what  I  can  find." 

"  I  shall  eat  the  kid's  biscuits,"  threatened  Philip. 
He  was  aware  that  he  would  hear  of  it  if  he  did. 

"The  little  dog  is  in  there,"  said  Yvonne,  turning 
grave.  "If  M.  Philippe  will  have  the  kindness  to 
watch  that  he  does  not." 

"Did  you  tell  him  to  trust  them  ?  "  said  Philip 
lazily.  Max,  the  terrier,  was  his  dog,  though  it 
lived  by  preference  with  Antoine. 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  does  not  always  mind  me  as  he  does 
M.  Antoine."  With  which  she  softly  retired. 

Philip,  having  put  Max  on  trust  over  Antoine's 
neglected  supper,  presently  went  downstairs,  and, 
book  in  hand,  slipped  into  the  study. 

The  study  was  a  long,  comfortable  room,  that  had 
originally  been  dignified  by  the  title  of  music-room, 


PHILIP  297 

before  the  noble  new  hall  was  built  to  oust  it.  It 
was  possible  to  enter  almost  unperceived  by  the 
occupants,  especially  when,  as  at  this  moment,  they 
were  deeply  engaged  on  their  own  business.  It 
amused  Philip  sometimes  to  go  in  and  attend  a  lesson 
when  he  felt  lazy  himself.  There  is  nothing  more 
piquant  than  to  lie  at  your  ease,  and  listen  to  others 
being  drilled  in  a  really  drastic  and  masterly  fashion. 
Besides,  he  suspected  that  his  uncle  did  not  greatly 
object  to  an  audience  in  any  case,  for  M.  Lemaure 
was  serenely  persuaded  that  it  was  an  education  to 
any  outsider  to  hear  him  teach.  Now,  as  Philip 
entered,  he  was  in  the  middle  of  a  lively  lecture  on 
the  supreme  importance  and  interest  of  a  passage  in 
the  first  part  of  the  quartette,  which,  it  appeared  by 
Monsieur's  comments,  Antoine  deliberately  and 
malignantly  persisted  in  rendering  as  if  it  was  an 
exercise. 

"  It  is  not  the  same  thing,  though  you  may  think 
so,  to  practise  and  to  play.  You  tell  me  it  is  diffi- 
cult." (This  dramatic  form  was  a  favourite,  though 
it  need  not  be  said  few  pupils  of  his  ever  volunteered 
a  remark  in  his  presence.)  "  Difficult  !  Well,  be  it 
so  ;  granted  it  is  difficult.  Then  you  must  practise 
it  ten,  twenty,  a  hundred  times,  till  you  could  do  it 
in  your  dreams.  Of  course  ;  but  is  it  finished  then  ? 
Bah — it  is  not  even  begun  !  Then  you  must  begin 
to  think  of  playing  it.  Play  !  "  Monsieur  slapped 
the  page  for  emphasis  as  he  spoke  :  "  Do  you  under- 
stand the  word  ?  It  must  grow  out  of  the  composition 
like  a  flower  on  its  stem  ;  not  be  pinned  on  like  the 
— the  toy  on  a  child's  Christmas-tree."  The  scorn 
in  the  phrase  was  superb. 

"  Now,"  his  speech  presently  reached  its  conclu- 
sion. "  Begin  again  at  the  beginning,  and  let  us  get 
this  right.  Half  an  hour  at  this  one  line  ;  it  becomes 
absurd." 


298  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

However,  it  was  anything  but  at  an  end  yet.  Time 
after  time,  Tony  was  pulled  up  at  the  same  point, 
just  as  he  was  beginning  to  warm  to  the  spirit  of  the 
music,  and  time  after  time  he  was  sent  back  to  the 
beginning  again.  Philip's  own  nerves  could  scarcely 
stand  it  at  last.  His  uncle,  who  walked  restlessly 
about  the  room  as  the  performance  proceeded,  came 
several  times  down  to  his  end,  and  stood  right  in 
front  of  him,  frowning,  gesticulating  and  exhorting. 
He  prudently  kept  his  eyes  on  the  book,  and  feigned 
complete  abstraction  ;  but  such  efforts  were  needless. 
Monsieur  paid  him  not  the  smallest  attention.  At 
last,  in  response  to  Philip's  silent  prayers,  the  crucial 
point  was  passed  with  no  more  comment  than  a 
grunt  from  the  impatient  little  gentleman  ;  and  the 
tide  flowed  smoothly  on  to  the  still  waters  at  the 
close  of  the  first  movement.  Philip  thought  his 
uncle  could  not  but  praise  ;  nothing  was  further 
from  his  thoughts. 

"  That  was  a  little  better,"  he  observed.  "  Now, 
we  will  have  it  again  with  the  proper  tempo  if  you 
please.  I  believe  it  is  an  occasion  of  festivity  to- 
morrow, and  not  of  a  funeral." 

Philip  winced  and  thought  instantly,  "He  will 
strike  now." 

But  Tony's  training  had  been  very  thorough. 
From  his  mother's  earliest  lessons  he  had  never  ex- 
pected to  be  spared  by  any  member  of  the  family  who 
taught  him — unless  indeed  it  was  the  greatest  mem- 
ber of  it.  "  From  the  beginning  ?  "  was  all  he  said. 

"  Of  course,"  said  his  uncle,  and  he  began  again. 

He  was  giving  all  he  had  to  the  task  now ;  and 
after  a  few  minutes  M.  Lucien  came  down  the  room 
slowly,  and  took  a  seat  not  far  from  Philip.  He  leant 
back  and  shaded  his  face  while  he  listened,  and  it 
struck  the  boy  with  sudden  sympathy  to  notice  how 
tired  he  looked.  Indeed,  he  was  using  up  one  of  the 


PHILIP  299 

few  intervals  in  a  hard  day's  work,  and  he  had  been 
sparing  himself  less  than  Antoine.  Once  or  twice 
he  turned  round  to  his  pupil  with,  as  it  were,  the 
beginning  of  a  gesture  to  stop  him  ;  but  he  aban- 
doned it  again  and  resumed  his  former  attitude. 
The  "  flowery  "  passage  came  and  passed  :  Monsieur 
was  looking  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window.  In  the 
absolute  silence  of  the  room  the  music  had  a  weird 
effect,  as  of  a  flickering  flame.  It  was  an  under- 
part  of  course,  always  suggesting,  seldom  asserting, 
though  Antoine  made  the  most  of  it  when  it  did.  It 
was  ceaselessly  broken  by  little  pauses,  which  Philip's 
ear,  unlike  theirs,  could  not  fill.  At  the  end  the  flow 
was  continuous,  and  it  died  peacefully  in  the  long 
chords  of  the  close. 

"Go  on,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  as  the  performer 
paused,  and  he  signalled  silently  to  Philip  to  pass 
him  his  own  violin,  which  he  had  not  touched.  At 
the  same  instant  he  turned  up  the  light  above 
Antoine's  head,  for  it  had  grown  dark.  The  boy 
frowned  a  little  at  the  sudden  glare,  as  he  tuned  up 
his  strings  for  the  andante.  Philip  and  his  uncle 
remained  in  the  half-light,  and  Tony  was  plainly 
unconscious  of  the  presence  in  the  room  of  any  one 
but  his  redoubted  master. 

"  You  will  play  the  first  part,  sir  ?  "  he  said, 
noticing  the  violin. 

"  No,  I  play  the  second.     Take  the  upper  line." 

Antoine  made  no  protest ;  he  realised  the  honour 
as  the  reward  of  his  efforts,  and  flushed  a  trifle. 
But  the  colour  vanished  quickly  as  he  turned  back 
to  his  work. 

The  second  division  was  practically  a  solo  for  the 
chief  instrument,  to  the  running  accompaniment  of 
the  other  strings  :  M.  Lemaure  merely  indicated 
this  to  support  the  boy's  part,  putting  it  in  sotto 
voce,  entirely  from  memory,  as  though  for  his  own 


300  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

satisfaction.  The  melody  was  big  and  satisfying, 
and  Antoine,  though  a  little  unsteady  at  first,  soon 
let  himself  go.  Philip  no  longer  pretended  to  read 
the  book  on  his  knee,  settling  comfortably  with  his 
arms  above  his  head.  If  they  were  really  going  to 
play,  he  might  as  well  enjoy  it. 

Towards  the  end,  M.  Lucien  abandoned  his  ac- 
companiment and  watched  the  performer  critically, 
tugging  his  moustache.  At  the  end  of  all  he  quietly 
rose. 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  was  a  somewhat  peculiar  finish." 

In  the  last  few  bars  Antoine  had  stumbled  rather 
heedlessly,  and  he  made  two  shots  at  the  final 
chord,  and  even  then  failed  to  hold  it.  It  was  a 
strange  effect  in  its  childish  impotence  after  the  solid 
beauty  he  had  lately  created.  M.  Lemaure  had  no 
idea,  indeed,  but  to  suspect  the  violin. 

"  What  happened  ?  "  he  said.  "  That  string — is 
it  going  to  break  ? — ah  !  " 

The  string  snapped  in  the  boy's  face,  and  his 
uncle  snatched  the  precious  instrument  with  an 
exclamation  ;  for  Antoine,  starting  violently  back, 
simply  let  it  go. 

"  Careless  !  "  the  master  ejaculated.  "  What  are 
you  thinking  of,  boy  ?  If  I  had  not  been  at  hand — 
there,  stupid,  it  is  all  right."  For  he  saw  the  little 
shock  had  upset  him  ;  holding  by  the  chimney-piece, 
he  was  clearly  fighting  a  strong  inclination  to  cry. 

"  The  breaking  of  one  string  !  "  Monsieur  mocked 
to  brace  him.  "  Is  that  enough,  at  this  time  of  day, 
to  destroy  a  performance  ?  If  we  were  in  a  concert- 
room  now,  with  an  audience." 

Just  as  it  happened,  there  was  an  audience. 
Philip  had  risen  to  his  feet,  biting  his  lip,  but  quite 
unable  to  gather  the  force  to  interfere.  No  one 
but  Madame  interfered  with  his  uncle — or  so  in  his 
ignorance  he  imagined. 


PHILIP  301 

"If  Monsieur  would  permit  M.  Antoine  to  come  to 
bed,"  said  the  soft  voice  of  the  maid  Yvonne  behind. 
"  His  supper  is  waiting." 

The  master  of  the  house  turned  about  quickly,  for 
he  had  not  heard  her  enter.  She  now  stood  com- 
posed and  pretty  as  usual,  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
M.  Lemaure  never  doubted  for  an  instant  it  was  a 
message  from  his  wife  that  was  thus  delivered.  He 
wavered,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Tschah,  it  is  late,"  he  said.    "  I  had  lost  the  time." 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  Yvonne  assented,  her  eyes  on 
Antoine. 

Monsieur  glanced  dubiously  at  the  music,  still  so 
far  from  being  finished.  He  flipped  the  pages  over, 
and  then  relinquished  it  with  a  tap. 

"  Well,  well,  you  had  better  go,"  he  said  rather 
grudgingly.  "  We  must  leave  the  last  to  chance,  I 
suppose.  If  no  other  strings  break — hein  ? — we  may 
get  through." 

He  drew  the  boy  to  him  kindly  enough. 

"  Stupid,"  he  said  again,  seeing  the  tears  on  his 
face.  "  If  at  our  age  we  grow  afraid  of  our  instru- 
ments, what  is  left  ?  Very  little,  I  think." 

Obviously  very  little,  for  Antoine  was  helpless. 
Monsieur,  who  still  flattered  himself  that  his  late 
application  owed  its  origin  to  remorse,  grew  quite 
benevolent  at  the  sight  of  tears.  "  To-day,"  he  went 
so  far  as  to  say,  "  I  have  been  content  with  you,  mon 
petit,"  and  so  embraced  and  dismissed  him. 

"  You  are  clever,  Yvonne,"  said  Philip,  with 
genuine  admiration,  when  she  came  up  to  him  to 
bring  the  refreshment  promised. 

Yvonne  laid  the  things  she  had  brought  out  care- 
fully. "  While  men  remain  so  stupid,"  she  said 
softly  when  she  had  finished,  "  one  must  do  what 
one  can." 


Ill 

THE  earlier  part  of  Sunday  passed  very  quietly.  As 
not  infrequently  happened  in  that  house,  the  brothers 
hardly  met.  Antoine,  being  at  liberty,  vanished  all 
the  morning  ;  and  Philip  was  necessarily  driven  into 
retreat  by  the  guests  in  the  afternoon.  He  did  not 
go  to  the  Rectory,  as  need  not  be  stated,  but  to  one 
of  his  favourite  corners  in  the  woods,  taking  with 
him  a  provision  of  magazines,  his  camera,  and  such 
share  of  the  reception  dainties  as  Yvonne  could  be 
persuaded  to  allow  him  ;  he  also  took  Max,  whose 
white  nose  grew  rapidly  ochre-coloured,  in  exploring 
the  upper  part  of  countless  rabbit-holes  ;  for  Philip, 
unlike  Antoine,  had  no  care  for  his  education  and 
no  sympathies  for  possible  young  rabbits,  and  left 
him  delightfully  to  his  own  devices.  Philip  was  also 
happy  in  his  own  way,  and  succeeded  for  quite  a 
long  period  in  forgetting  Tony  and  all  attendant 
bothers.  When  his  watch  and  the  evening  light 
assured  him  he  was  safe,  he  returned  to  the  house 
and  sought  his  aunt.  Of  course  he  never  hoped  for  a 
moment  that  his  absence  would  escape  her,  and  it  was 
just  as  well  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns  without  delay. 

Madame  was  lying  exhausted  on  her  couch  in  the 
pretty  shaded  drawing-room. 

"  The  rector,"  announced  Philip,  entering,  "  is 
very  well,  and  he  sent  his  love." 

"  I  am  aware  he  is  well,"  said  Madame.  "  He  was 
here  ;  of  the  love,  however,  I  did  not  observe  any 
signs." 

302 


PHILIP  303 

"You  mean  he  came?"  said  Philip,  stopping. 
"  To-day  ?  Well,  that's  one  to  you,  Madame." 

"  I  met  him  in  the  morning,"  she  explained,  "  com- 
ing out  of  his  church,  and  looking  so  pleasant  after 
the  sermon.  So  I  besought  him  to  come.  I  said  his 
presence  would  make  such  a  difference  to  me." 

"  Did  it  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  Immense,  darling.  More  than  your  absence. 
Mon  Dieu — but  I  am  thankful  it  is  over." 

"  Did  those  hags  keep  you  standing  all  the  time  ?  " 
said  Philip,  approaching  the  sofa.  She  was  not  at  all 
a  person  to  complain,  though  the  energy  of  her  spirit 
constantly  overdid  her  fragile  body.  At  this  minute 
she  looked,  and  was,  tired  out.  She  took  Philip's 
hand  as  he  stood  beside  her. 

"Ingrat,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him.  "To  how 
many  of  the  hags  was  I  forced  to  make  your  excuses  ? 
And  you  who  had  left  me  none  to  make  !  " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Philip,  "  what  are  a  few  lies 
more  or  less  ?  You  know  you  like  doing  it.  Well — 
so  every  one  loved  you,  and  it  was  a  flaring  success 
— as  usual." 

"  As  usual,"  Madame  assented.  "  Lady  Croome 
was  enraptured,  and  your  uncle  was  an  angel." 

"  Was  he  ?  "  said  Philip,  a  trifle  astonished. 

"  Ah,  how  I  admire  him !  The  way  he  annexed 
the  only  agreeable  woman  the  whole  afternoon — and 
then  the  way  he  bore  Antoine.  Antoine  is  really 
naughty,  though  he  makes  one  laugh." 

"  Laugh  ?  "  Philip  raised  his  brows.  What  was 
coming  now  ? 

"He  changes  so,"  said  Madame.  "  Would  you  be- 
lieve it  ? — he  had  the  real  stage-fright.  Incredible  for 
him,  is  it  not  ?  Yet  it  was  plainly  that,  for  I  observed 
him  myself.  When  every  one  had  arrived,  and  was 
beginning  to  think  of  the  music — no  little  boy.  At 
last,  since  the  servants  fail,  I  go  to  summon  him,  there 


304  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

in  his  room.  No,  he  will  not.  He  hates  the  people, 
he  hates  their  faces,  he  cannot  play,  he  will  not  come  : 
and  that  information  I  am  to  carry  to  your  uncle, 
who  has  already  placed  the  chairs  !  " 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Philip. 

"  Lucien's  face — it  was  delicious  !  The  composure 
before  the  world,  you  see,  he  could  not  storm.  Ah," 
said  Madame  pensively,  "  I  enjoyed  that  moment. 
There  is  nothing  to  be  done,  I  tell  him  sweetly.  Hav- 
ing acquaintance  with  the  disease,  I  inform  him  that 
no  help  is  possible.  Panic  is  to  be  pitied,  not  cured. 
'  Panic  ? '  says  he.  '  Obstinacy !  One  child's  obstinacy 
to  disappoint  the  whole  room.  One  moment,  and  I 
will  go  myself ! '  '  Do  not  beat  him,'  I  supplicate,  and 
return  to  the  lawn.  There  on  the  steps  I  meet  An- 
toine,  quite  collected.  '  All  right,'  he  says  to  me.  '  I 
am  coming.'  And  while  I  yet  stare,  vanished  into 
the  music-room.  Is  he  not  an  oddity  ?  " 

;'  That  was  all  then  ?  "  said  Philip. 

' '  After  that  he  behaves  well,  plays  charmingly,  eats 
an  enormous  tea,  and  amuses  these  ladies  to  distrac- 
tion. Lady  Croome  was  charmed  by  him.  Oh,  my 
friend — you  were  never  missed." 

But  Philip  had  no  leisure  to  be  jealous  just  then. 

"  Was  my  uncle  down  on  him  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Not  at  the  time,  you  understand.  He  bore  it  all 
without  a  sign.  Wonderful,  I  thought  him.  Then, 
afterwards,  when  we  had  got  rid  of  all  but  the  players 
the  little  one  approaches,  blames  himself — taking 
the  words  out  of  Lucien's  mouth — and  demands  to 
go  to  his  room  ;  anticipating  the  master,  who  had 
the  intention  to  send  him  there  :  the  rest  of  the 
quartette  looking  on  at  it,  if  you  please.  '  And  you 
shall  lock  me  in,'  says  monsieur,  just  as  though  it  was 
what  he  most  desired.  So,  as  his  dignity  had  no 
choice,  my  husband  does  so,  and  I  remain  trying  to 
keep  my  face  before  ces  messieurs.  Really,  Antoine 


PHILIP  305 

would  make  his  fortune  on  the  stage  ;  his  little  flip- 
pant manner  was  superb  for  its  purpose.  At  times 
one  can  hardly  follow  his  changes." 

Philip  seemed  to  agree  ;  indeed,  he  was  more 
puzzled  than  ever.  He  could  not  see  how  or  where — 
or  indeed  whether — the  situation  was  to  end.  The 
boy's  moods  seemed  to  have  no  connection  with  one 
another,  or  with  their  cause  ;  there  was  no  grief,  no 
appeal  for  pity,  nor  even  clear  sign  of  its  need  ; 
nothing  but  this  bewildering  excitement  in  all  its 
chameleon  forms.  He  supposed  vaguely  that  it 
would  work  off  by  degrees,  but  he  felt  no  special 
longing  to  witness  the  stages  ;  nor  could  he  find 
room  for  amusement,  like  his  aunt. 

He  had  no  idea  how  soon  the  crisis  was  to  come. 

It  became  clear  to  the  fond  observers  of  M.  Lemaure 
during  the  evening  that  he  was  in  a  difficulty.  He 
had  not  intended  to  banish  Antoine  for  the  whole 
evening,  and  he  had  carefully  not,  as  requested, 
locked  the  door.  But  Antoine  chose  to  remain  up- 
stairs not  only  during  supper-time,  but  afterwards. 
To  send  up  elaborately  to  release  him,  and  then  be 
refused — as  seemed  only  too  possible  by  such  an 
ingenious  criminal — was  not  suitable  to  one's  dignity. 
Nevertheless,  one  wanted,  as  always  on  a  Sunday 
evening,  to  play  the  organ  ;  and  Antoine,  an  almost 
necessary  accessory  to  this  proceeding,  made  his 
absence  felt. 

M.  Lemaure  became  exceedingly  indignant  and 
irritable  when  he  failed  to  appear ;  and  Philip, 
coming  down  at  nine,  and  discovering  by  a  hint  from 
his  aunt  the  state  of  affairs,  took  pity  on  him. 

"  The  kid's  gone  to  bed,  hasn't  he,  sir  ?  Were  you 
wanting  to  play  ?  Shall  I  come  and  stop  for  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  busy  ?  "  said  Monsieur. 

"  No  ;  if  I  am  not  worse  than  nobody." 

u 


306  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  You're  better  than  nobody,"  said  his  uncle  :  who 
admitted  Philip's  intelligence,  though  he  regarded 
him  musically  as  the  sentimentalist,  or  the  sham — 
two  interchangeable  terms. 

Thus  for  some  hours,  M.  Lucien  was  really  happy. 
His  splendid  new  organ,  the  gift  of  his  wife,  was  the 
centre  of  this  country  home.  With  that  and  the 
ancient  church  music  his  soul  loved,  he  became 
quite  a  different  being  ;  quiet,  immersed  and  tolerant 
of  those  in  his  neighbourhood.  His  affection  for 
Antoine,  quite  a  real  thing  in  spite  of  their  tussles, 
dated  from  these  confidential  hours  by  the  organ. 
Indeed  he  loved  to  have  a  young  human  being  at 
his  side,  for  M.  Lemaure  '  cadet '  was  an  educa- 
tionalist ingrain  ;  as  fast  as  he  had  an  idea,  it  was 
his  desire  to  hand  it  on  and  make  it  profitable, 
which  is  the  true  educational  instinct.  Even  his 
playing  had  always  a  little  the  air  of  a  demonstration 
to  his  less  respectful  hearers.  "  Do  you  see  ?  "  his 
sharp  look  seemed  to  say  at  the  end  of  each  fragment. 
Antoine's  way  of  taking  such  instruction  was  different 
from  Philip's,  and  not  always  so  satisfactory.  But 
Tony  was  a  polite  and  pleasant  companion,  and  there 
were  mild  moods  in  which  his  ideas  in  return  amused 
his  uncle,  who  allowed  himself  to  entertain  them 
jestingly. 

Philip,  on  the  other  hand,  was  sedate  and  impressed. 
To-night  the  style  of  music  but  vaguely  appealed  to 
him  :  but  it  made  him,  as  children  would  say,  '  feel 
good  '  ;  and  on  Sunday  evening  he  was  quite  willing 
to  feel  good  for  a  time,  and,  while  his  uncle  waked 
the  echoes  in  the  big  shadowy  room,  to  think  out 
some  of  his  immediate  plans  and  prospects  in  life. 
Philip  had  a  strong  vein  of  sentiment  in  him,  which 
he  did  not  object  at  such  hours  to  let  loose  ;  and 
when  at  last  M.  Lemaure  had  had  enough,  when 
they  had  turned  out  the  lights,  locked  up  the"  temple, 


PHILIP  307 

and  issued  into  the  star-lighted,  sweet-scented  garden, 
he  was  glad  that  his  uncle  chose  to  linger  a  little,  and 
stroll  up  the  grass  path  between  his  wife's  cherished 
late  roses. 

M.  Lemaure  smoked  and  listened  to  some  of 
Philip's  notions  with  interest,  though  he  did  not  say 
much  on  his  side.  He  thought  him  a  nice  boy, 
and  very  English,  with  his  stiffness  and  his  senti- 
ment and  his  solemn  utter  belief  in  himself.  He 
liked  probing  a  little  the  depths  in  Philip,  though 
it  was  principally  to  prove  his  own  theories  in  so 
doing.  The  Frenchman  was  aware  that,  at  his  age, 
he  had  had  whole  acres  of  knowledge  of  which  this 
boy  knew  nothing  ;  and  he  marvelled  often,  at  such 
moments  of  confidence,  how  he  could  be  at  once 
so  clever  and  so  ignorant,  so  warm-hearted  and  so 
passionless,  so  certain  of  his  methods  and  so  incor- 
rigibly shy  in  his  dealings  ;  in  fact,  as  he  summed  it 
up,  so  much  the  son  of  James  Edgell  his  old  anta- 
gonist. But  the  end  of  all  was  that  he  liked  Philip 
for  being  young,  while  he  was  impatient  of  his  youth  ; 
and  it  was  quite  late  before  he  reconciled  himself  to 
driving  him  indoors. 

"  Is  that  the  window  of  your  room,  Philippe  ?  "  he 
asked  apropos  of  nothing,  just  before  they  turned 
the  corner  of  the  house. 

"  Which  ?  "  asked  Philip  surprised. 

"  With  the  light." 

The  outline  of  the  house  was  dim  against  the  stars. 
Philip  rapidly  reckoned  the  relative  position  of  the 
lighted  upper  window  in  question.  "It  can' t  be  mine," 
he  said.  "  I  didn't  leave  the  light  on.  It's  Tony's." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Monsieur.  "  Did  you  not 
tell  me  he  was  in  bed  ?  Then  what  is  he  doing  with 
the  light  ?  >: 

Philip  knew  quite  well  what  he  was  doing ;  he 
dodged  the  truth,  though,  instinctively. 


308  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Perhaps  he's  reading,"  he  said.  "  He's  been 
sleeping  badly  this  last  week." 

"  Fancy,"  said  Monsieur.  "  Nonsense,  at  his  age, 
and  I  will  not  have  it ;  that  is  why  he  works  badly  by 
day.  You  are  going  to  bed  ?  "  They  had  reached 
the  house.  "  Well,  tell  him  to  turn  his  light  out  at 
once  and  go  to  sleep,  or  I  shall  be  extremely  angry." 
Philip  went  upstairs,  and  tried  his  brother's  door. 
It  was  locked  within,  so  he  rapped  sharply. 

"  It's  me.  Monsieur  says  you're  to  go  to  bed  at 
once,  or  you'll  jolly  well  catch  it.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

No  answer.  Only  a  little  whine  from  the  shaggy 
Max,  who  was  stretched  against  the  door,  watching 
it  and  sniffing  sadly. 

"  Poor  old  boy,"  said  Philip,  touching  him. 
"  Turned  you  out,  did  he  ?  Beastly  unsociable  he 
is  to-night.  Well,  we'll  jolly  well  go  in,  won't  we. 
You  wait  a  minute." 

Max  lifted  one  ear  to  his  official  master ;  he 
respected  Philip,  but  his  feeling  to  Antoine  went  far 
beyond  respect.  His  eyes  and  nose  did  not  move 
from  the  crack. 

"Tony,"  said  Philip.  "Open  the  door.  Max 
wants  to  come  in." 

After  a  long  pause,  Tony  unlocked  it.  He  looked 
white  and  elated  and  his  eyes  were  brilliant. 

"Bother  you  are,"  he  jerked  irritably.  "What 
do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  says " 

"  I  heard." 

"Well,  aren't  you  going  to  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not.     Come  in,  Max." 

He  held  the  door  sufficiently  open  for  the  dog, 
markedly  excluding  Philip.  However,  Philip  was 
equal  to  that  game  ;  he  pushed  in  with  ease,  held  the 
boy  back  with  one  hand,  and  took  possession  of  the 
key.  Tony  promptly  retired  to  the  table,  as  to  an 


PHILIP  309 

inner  intrenchment.  Philip  saw  he  was  in  for  a  battle 
so  he  determined  to  be  very  reasonable,  that  being  the 
best  course  to  pursue  with  the  insane.  He  set  a 
knee  in  the  armchair,  folded  his  arms  on  the  top,  and 
prepared  to  deliver  a  sermon  as  from  a  pulpit. 

"  Look  here,"  it  began.  "  You  can't  keep  this  up, 
so  where's  the  use  ?  Man  can't  do  without  sleep. 
You'll  make  yourself  really  ill,  if  you've  not  already 
done  it.  This  infernal  affair  has  upset  you,  I  know, 
and  I'm  very  sorry  for  you — that's  a  fact.  But  there's 
no  sense  in  brooding  over  it  now — and  what's  more, 
it's  wrong." 

The  sermon  had  reached  this  impressive  point 
when  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  object  of  it  was  not 
listening.  He  was  gazing  down  at  a  page  of  his 
manuscript  in  deep  abstraction. 

Philip  suddenly  abandoned  the  pulpit,  strode  for- 
ward, and  swept  together  the  closely-written  sheets 
with  which  the  table  was  scattered. 

"  If  you  don't  do  as  you  are  told  this  minute,  I'll 
take  this  straight  down  to  him." 

When  he  had  said  it,  he  was  afraid  ;  for  the  boy's 
dark  eyes,  at  close  quarters,  dilated  strangely.  He 
panted  a  little  as  he  stood. 

'  You — you  will  not." 

1  Well,  are  you  going  to  do  as  you're  told  ?  " 

'  Give  it  to  me.     It  is  mine." 

'  Tony,  are  you  going  to  do  as  you  are  told  ?  ': 

'  No  !  "  he  shot  the  answer  defiantly.     "  I  will  finish 
that  first.     Perhaps  I  may  die,  or  you — or  my  uncle. 
What  is  that  ?     I  wish  he  would.     I  do  not  want  him, 
I  finish  that  now,  here,  just  as  I  like.     Oh,  please  !  " 
his  voice  broke  pitifully,  "  give  it  to  me  quick." 
"  No.     Give  it  to  me,  Philippe." 
A  dry  French  voice  behind  repeated  his  words,  and 
M.  Lemaure  advanced  into  the  room.     It  had  not 
occurred  to  Philip  that  he  would  take  the  trouble  to 


310  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

go  back  into  the  garden  and  keep  a  watch  on  the 
window  to  be  sure  that  his  orders  were  carried  out. 

Antoine  flung  himself  on  the  precious  papers — but 
too  late.  M.  Lemaure  had  taken  them  coolly  from 
Philip's  limp  hand,  and,  spreading  them  out  on  the 
table,  proceeded  to  examine  them  at  leisure. 

"  Interesting,"  was  his  comment.  "  So  this  is  what 
you  do  instead  of  giving  your  mind  to  your  proper 
work.  I  might  have  known  there  was  some  such 
nonsense  going  on.  Seven — eight  parts — mon  Dieu  ! 
when  you  can  scarcely  write  three  correctly  ;  when 
your  exercises  are  as  full  of  faults  as  a  sponge  is  full 
of  holes.  Here  is  a  composer,  my  faith  !  Look  at  him." 

The  scorn  of  his  incisive  voice  cut  the  boy,  already 
overwrought,  almost  like  a  knife.  He  leant  back  with 
one  hand  on  the  table  to  support  him,  clenching  the 
other  up  against  his  chest  as  though  in  severe  bodily 
pain.  Instinctively  dramatic  though  he  always  was, 
it  did  not  seem  at  all  a  natural  attitude. 

Philip,  who  to  this  point  had  been  paralysed  by 
the  unforeseen  thunderbolt,  made  a  movement  to 
intervene.  M.  Lemaure  turned  on  him  instantly. 

"  And  you — you  encourage  him.  You  knew  of  this 
nonsense,  and  you  said  no  word.  You  knew  he  was 
wasting  the  hours  of  needful  rest  over  this  rubbish. 
Go  ! — I  thought  you  had  more  sense,  Philippe.  You 
are  babies,  both  of  you — senseless  children." 

M.  Lemaure's  explosion  was  over  ;  he  was  cooling 
slowly.  He  came  to  earth  from  the  heights  of  his 
wrath,  and  he  became  aware  of  Tony's  white  face. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me,  Antoine  ?  " 
he  said  more  gently. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  You  cannot  take  it,"  the  boy  gasped  in  a  voice 
not  his  own.  "It  is  mine — my  own.  You  could 
not  do  it.  No  one  could  do  it  but  me.  You  must — 
you  must  give  it  back  to  me." 


PHILIP  311 

His  uncle  waited  a  moment. 

"  What  is  yours,  is  mine,"  he  then  said  slowly. 
"  You  are  a  child,  and  you  are  my  pupil.  If  you  can 
write  anything  at  all,  it  is  I  who  have  taught  you. 
Until  I  set  you  free,  you  are  my  apprentice,  and  must 
do  my  work  ;  no  other.  Do  you  see  ?  " 

He  was  exercising  extreme  self-control  as  he 
spoke. 

"  No  !  "  Tony  looked  him  in  the  face.  "  You  have 
not  taught  me  this.  No  one  at  all  can  teach  me. 
You  !  "  The  tone  of  the  last  word  and  the  smile  that 
accompanied  it  struck  M.  Lucien  dumb.  "  It  is  me." 
His  clenched  hand  dropped  on  the  table,  clutching 
it.  "  And  her,"  he  added,  though  breath  failed  him 
to  be  audible.  But  his  brother  understood. 

"  Tony  !  don't  !  "  he  said  in  low  entreaty.  But  his 
uncle  stopped  him  as  he  tried  to  move  forward. 

"  Not  a  word,  Philippe,"  he  said,  with  all  his  dignity. 
"  That  is  enough,  Antoine,"  he  added  quietly,  turning 
to  him.  "  That  is  really  quite  insolence  enough  for 
one  evening.  You  are  mad  to-night.  To-morrow  I 
will  speak  to  you.  Go,  Philippe."  Then,  as  Philip 
hung  doubtful,  "  Go,"  he  repeated  more  sharply, 
"  and— call  that  dog." 

The  shaggy  terrier,  Max,  head  down  and  limp  ears 
drooping  at  such  unwelcome  summons,  crept  a  little 
way  after  Philip.  He  gave  the  smallest  whine  of 
protest. 

"  Don't  take  him,"  said  Antoine,  starting.  "  Max  ! 
Come  back  !  "  His  voice  had  a  sound  of  panic. 

"  Tschah  !  "  M.  Lemaure  ejaculated  in  disgust ;  but 
his  dramatic  exit  was  already  spoiled.  As  Max  turned 
to  the  beloved  voice,  M.  Lemaure  shoved  him  irritably 
with  his  foot.  He  could  not  consider  a  dog  at  the 
minute,  and  he  wished  to  get  rid  of  him,  so  he  kicked. 
Max  gave  a  yelp,  and  Antoine  an  almost  simultaneous 
cry  of  rage.  In  a  flash  he  flung  himself  on  the  dog, 


312  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

and,  catching  it  up  with  the  careless  ease  of  the  born 
animal-lover,  clasped  it  up  to  him  where  he  stood. 

It  would  have  been  easy  to  leave  it  so,  and  more 
dignified  undoubtedly  ;  but  the  boy's  whole  be- 
haviour was  a  challenge  to  authority,  and  the  little 
tyrant  in  M.  Lemaure  came  to  the  top. 

"  It  is  your  dog,  is  it  not,  Philippe  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Kindly  bring  it  away.  I  will  not  have  a  dog  here." 

Philip  hesitated  a  moment.  There  was  really  no 
choice  in  the  circumstances,  and  he  had  the  sense  to 
realise  it,  and  to  act  promptly.  He  walked  up  to  the 
pair. 

"  Beastly  sorry,  Tony,"  he  said.  "  Let  go ;  I 
don't  want  to  hurt  you."  He  spoke  sadly  and 
gently  ;  and  with  one  look  up  at  him  Antoine  laid 
Max  in  his  arms. 

"Don't  let— let  him  be  hurt,  then,"  he  said 
choking  ;  and  turning  away  as  they  shut  the  door, 
he  dropped  face  downwards  upon  his  bed. 

Phillip  laid  the  white  dog  in  his  chair,  where  it 
cowered  mutely,  and  turned. 

"  You  won't  destroy  it,  sir  ?  "  he  said.  He  was 
slightly  flushed,  and  his  voice  shook  a  little.  His 
beauty  was  striking  at  the  moment,  but  it  was  not 
that  that  his  uncle  noticed. 

"  I  shall  do  with  it  exactly  what  it  suits  me,"  was 
his  cool  answer.  "  You  have  the  key  of  this  room  ?  " 

Philip,  who  had  been  unaware  that  he  still  held  it, 
offered  the  key  in  silence. 

Monsieur  locked  the  door  with  it,  dropped  it  in 
his  pocket,  and  left  the  room  without  further  words. 
But  out  on  the  staircase  he  halted,  and  said  to  him- 
self :  "  Mon  Dieu— Henriette  !  " 

And  as  he  went  on  down,  he  felt,  it  must  be 
owned,  most  uncomfortable. 


IV 

MADAME  LEMAURE  had  a  headache  'consequent 
upon  her  efforts  of  the  day  before.  She  slipped 
downstairs  late  in  the  day,  and  lay  languidly  in  her 
cool  drawing-room,  secure  from  the  intrusion  of 
her  friends,  for  Yvonne  had  received  instructions. 
Yvonne  could  be  so  perfectly  trusted,  Madame 
thought  with  relief,  as  she  closed  her  eyes  to  the 
world  and  courted  sleep.  The  scent  of  her  roses  was 
wafted  in  from  without,  and  the  light  air  now  and 
again  scattered  petals  upon  her  from  a  bowl  of  them 
that  lay  at  her  side,  which  a  single  hot  day  had  over- 
blown. 

At  last  she  really  did  doze  a  little  ;  and,  re-opening 
her  eyes,  was  greatly  surprised  to  find  a  visitor  in 
the  room,  Yvonne's  figure  at  the  door  meanwhile 
announcing  tranquilly  : 

"  Pardon,  Madame,  M.  Lemaure." 

Was  it  a  joke  ?  Yvonne  was  not  given  to  jokes 
in  company.  She  stared  quite  helplessly,  incapable 
of  a  movement  of  welcome.  The  visitor  meanwhile, 
who  was  old  and  limped  slightly  in  walking,  crossed 
slowly  to  her  side. 

"Do not  move,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "  I  am  ashamed 
to  disturb  you.  I  have  come  on  business  with  my 
son,  but  I  could  not  refuse  myself  the  pleasure  of  a 
word  in  passing." 

"  Mon  pere  !  "  Madame  gasped,  quite  amazed. 
Was  she  dreaming  ? 

"  I  was  in  England,"  said  M.  Lemaure.  "  There 
313 


314  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

are  so  many  trains  from  London — why  not  ?  Lon- 
don is  unspeakable — oh,  very  ugly  :  I  think  of  the 
country,  I  catch  a  train — it  is  done.  Forgive  me, 
C6cile,  and  lie  still." 

He  bent  towards  her  as  she  strove  to  rise.  She 
was  a  great  favourite  of  his,  and  his  persuasions  had 
been  largely  instrumental  in  her  marriage.  For  there 
had  been  a  time,  before  the  humorous  possibilities 
of  Lucien  became  evident,  when  the  little  lady  had 
rebelled  strongly  against  her  parents'  choice,  had 
indeed  been  heard  to  declare  in  public  that  she  would 
rather  marry  the  father  than  the  son.  They  could 
afford  to  laugh  at  the  time  of  rebellion  now,  but  they 
had  never  ceased  to  be  friends. 

"  But  it  is  ravishing,"  said  Madame,  clasping  her 
hands.  "  You  stay  a  week." 

"  No,  no  ;   not  a  night." 

"  A  week,"  said  Madame,  drawing  a  chair  up  to 
her  side.  "  The  garden  is  perfect.  You  are  safe 
here  from  letters,  pupils,  the  newspapers,  everybody. 
I  will  talk  to  you  all  the  time." 

"  Charming,"  said  the  visitor.  "  But  in  a  week  I 
must  be  at  home,  and  to-morrow  I  must  be  in 
London." 

"  Must  !  "  said  Madame  lightly,  and  nipped  a  rose- 
petal  off  her  skirt.  That,  the  action  signified,  was 
how  she  disposed  of  must.  "  See — you  are  old,  are 
you  not  ?  " 

"  Quite  old,"  he  assented. 

"  Well,  there  is  no  must  for  the  quite  old,  or  the  quite 
young.    Your  musts  are  long  past,  cherpere.    Oh,  you 
will  see."     She  nodded,  confident  of  her  powers. 
«    "Lucien  is  at  home  to-day  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  In  his  study,  I  think.  This  is  not  a  day  for 
pupils.  I  have  not  seen  him  yet.  My  day,"  she 
smiled  prettily,  "  has  had  no  morning.  Do  you  know 
those  tiresome  days  ?  " 


PHILIP  315 

"  Poor  child,"  he  said  gently.  "Yet  how  many 
of  our  days  are  whole  days,  after  all  ?  "  He  paused 
dreamily  a  moment,  then  gripped  himself.  "  There 
are  few  of  us  at  whom  the  sun  cannot  smile,"  he 
said  ;  and  his  own  smile,  flashing  out,  seemed  to 
gather  to  itself  all  the  lines  of  his  face,  betraying  it 
at  once  as  one  of  the  faces  originally  made  for  mirth, 
though  life  had  overlaid  it  with  some  slight  network 
of  care. 

"  Where  are  the  boys  ?  "  he  said  after  a  pause. 

"  Philippe  is  out,  walking  leagues  as  usual." 

"  They  are  well  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,"  said  Madame.  "  He  grows  so  fast, 
and  of  course  over-exerts  himself,  en  anglais.  How 
pleased  he  will  be  !  " 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  smiling  at  her 
thoughtfully.  "  And  the  other  ?  " 

"  Antoine — let  me  see — he  is  upstairs.  Lucien 

and  he "  she  shrugged.  "Really  I  lose  hope, 

they  quarrel  so." 

"  Quarrel  ?  " 

"  I  think  Antoine  charming  when  he  is  impudent," 
said  Madame.  "  Lucien  does  not  find  him  so.  He 
tries  to  hammer  him  to  the  shape  that  suits  him,  you 
understand.  You  might  as  well  hammer  the  ocean  ! 
He  breaks  out  on  every  side.  It  is  beautiful  to  see 
Lucien's  disappointment  over  it." 

"  You  have  had  this  spectacle  lately  ? "  said  M. 
Lemaure,  caressing  the  roses  absently. 

"  A  little.  But  it  seems  they  annoy  one  another 
most  in  private." 

"  The  causes — you  do  not  know  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  follow  them,  indeed  ;  childish,  probably, 

tell  them  they  are  infants  both.  If  they  would 
think  before  they  speak — but  pouf  !  "  She  spread  a 
little  gesture,  smiling  at  him  side -long. 

"The  Lemaure  tongue,"  said  the  head  of  that 


3i6  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

name.  "  Possibly,  then,  I  must  scold  Antoine  since 
I  have  come.  May  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  imagine  so."  Madame  put  her  hand  to  the 
bell  in  reach.  "  Yvonne,  will  you  inform  M.  Antoine 
of—  Her  pretty  gesture  supplied  the  rest. 

Yvonne  waited  an  instant.  "  Pardon,  Madame,  I 
shall  go  to  Monsieur  then  for  the  key  ?  M.  Antoine's 
door  is  locked." 

"  Tiens  !  "  said  Madame  with  a  half  laugh.  "  This 
is  worse  than  I  thought.  Wait — I  will  ask  Lucien, 
mon  pere." 

"  Never  !  "  The  old  man  put  a  hand  upon  her,  as 
he  rose  rather  painfully.  "  I  have  wearied  you  as 
it  is.  Leave  your  infants  to  me,  Cecile,  if  I  may 
assume  them." 

"  After  all,"  said  Madame,  laying  her  little  hand 
gratefully  in  his,  "  they  are  both  yours,  are  they  not  ? 

"  Both  ?  You  have  forgotten  already  that  I  gave 
you  one  ?  "  He  looked  down  on  her  a  minute. 
"  Perhaps  one  is  still  mine,  however,"  he  said, 
pressed  her  hand,  and  left  her  to  rest. 

The  master  of  the  house  was  engaged  in  looking 
over  a  pile  of  his  pupil's  papers.  It  was  the  hour  of 
Antoine's  lesson,  but  he  had  it  to  himself,  for  the 
boy  was  still  a  rebel  and  a  prisoner.  M.  Lucien  was 
weary  and  worried  :  he  had  had  another  stormy 
interview  with  him  in  the  morning,  hoping  to  find 
him  with  somewhat  recovered  reason  after  a  night's 
rest.  But  Antoine  had  not  rested,  and  he  was  not 
reasonable  :  in  fact  he  was  decidedly  rude.  So  his 
uncle  gave  him  up,  and  left  him  locked  in  in  disgrace. 

Philip  had  been  morose  at  breakfast,  and  had 
vanished  soon  after,  declaring  simply  that  he  would 
not  be  home  till  late  ;  so,  as  Madame  remained  in- 
visible, M.  Lucien  had  been  practically  alone  all  day. 

Into  this  solitude  came  his  father,  like  a  visitor 


PHILIP  317 

from  the  stars.  M.  Lucien  made  a  point  of  seeing 
his  father  once  a  year,  partly  because  he  loved  him, 
partly  by  way  of  example  to  younger  members  of 
the  family,  who  were  not  so  scrupulous.  But  a 
descent  like  this  was  unheard-of,  for,  with  Lucien 
especially,  his  father  was  always  careful  to  regard 
formalities. 

He  apologised  now  with  the  same  care  he  had 
used  to  Madame,  but  it  was  quite  unnecessary. 
Lucien  was  proud  and  enchanted  to  see  him,  no  one 
could  have  doubted  that  for  an  instant.  He  even 
knocked  the  whole  neat  pile  of  his  papers  on  to  the 
floor,  and  left  them  there  unheeded,  while  he  stood 
beside  his  chair,  to  ask  and  supply  the  family  news. 
Eventually  they  came  to  Antoine  of  course  :  "  My 
boy,"  M.  Lemaure  said,  and  his  son,  unlike  Madame, 
had  no  doubt  which  boy  he  meant.  He  explained 
the  circumstances  with  great  dignity  and  care. 

"He  has  been  ungovernable  for  some  days ;   last 
night  he  was  insolent." 
"  Insolent  ?     To  you  ?  " 

"  No  other  word,';  said  M.  Lucien,  "  is  possible. 
I  am  sorry  that  it  should  be  so  at  the  time  of  your 

visit,  too  rare  as  your  visits  are  ;    but "     The 

master  shrugged.     "  Is  it  my  fault  ?  "  said  the  shrug. 
"  Perhaps  I  may  speak  to  him,"  said  M.  Lemaure 
politely. 

"Of  course."  M.  Lucien  summoned  Yvonne,  and 
handed  her  the  key.  Yvonne's  colour  rose  a  trifle 
as  she  took  it.  No  other  key  in  the  house,  she  had 
long  since  ascertained,  fitted  that  door. 

"  Tell  him,"  said  M.  Lucien  briefly,  "  to  come 
down  to  me  at  once." 

"  I  seem  to  know  that  girl's  face,"  said  M.  Lemaure 
considering. 

"She  is  one  of  the  Breton  Fantecs.  Can  you 
really  remember  ?  James  interested  himself  in  them 


318  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

because  the  mother  nursed  Philip.  He  recom- 
mended this  child  to  Cecile  as  the  cleverest ;  they 
are  all  bright." 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure."    He  was  satisfied. 

"  A  pretty  girl,  eh  ?  "  said  his  son  with  a  slight 
twinkle. 

"Very;  there  is  much  in  her  face."  They  spoke  of 
other  things  until  Yvonne  returned. 

"  Pardon,  Monsieur.     M.  Antoine  says " 

"  That  he  will  not  come,"  her  master  anticipated 
her.  It  was  clear  by  her  face. 

"  No,  Monsieur."    There  was  a  pause. 

"  Shall  I  go  up  there  ?  "  M.  Lemaure  the  elder 
suggested.  In  his  own  house,  his  son's  authority 
stood  supreme.  Nothing  would  have  induced  him 
to  interfere  without  strong  reason  shown. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  M.  Lucien  with  indignation. 
"  Excuse  me,  father,"  he  added  instantly,  "  but  it  is 
absurd.  You  have  to  climb  the  whole  house  for 
a  naughty  boy.  I  will  go  myself  sooner."  He 
turned.  "  Yvonne — have  the  kindness  to  inform 
M.  Antoine  that  I  give  him  five  minutes  in  which  to 
obey  me — only  five." 

Yvonne  turned  with  the  very  slightest,  almost 
invisible  smile. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Mile.  Yvonne  : 
have  the  kindness  to  give  him  at  the  same  time — 
that."  He  put  into  her  hand  a  small  silver  key, 
which  he  had  slipped  off  his  watch-chain.  Then  he 
leaned  back  and  waited  ;  his  son  walked  restlessly  to 
and  fro,  with  an  occasional  eye  to  the  clock.  His 
father  could  not  avoid  an  internal  question  as  to 
what  next  step  in  discipline  he  contemplated.  Lucien 
had  always  interested  him  greatly,  and  he  had  never 
known  him  yet  hesitate  for  want  of  a  prepared  plan. 
He  felt  sure  he  had  one  now. 

They  had  not  to  wait  long,  for  Yvonne  was  swift. 


PHILIP  319 

She  swung  into  the  room  with  the  same  easy  step  as 
before,  suggesting  the  gait  of  one  barefoot  on  the 
sands. 

"  M.  Antoine  cannot  come  here,  Monsieur,"  said 
she  to  the  master.  Then  she  flung  back  her  head 
and  addressed  the  older  man  without  the  respectful 
formula.  "  You  will  come  to  him,"  she  said,  "  if 
you  are  real." 

M.  Lucien  gave  an  exasperated  sigh.  His  father 
rose  to  face  him.  "  My  son,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  be 
an  invention,  even  of  yours.  You  will  allow  me  to 
go,  and  to  see  what  it  is  necessary  to  do."  He 
waited  anxiously. 

"As  you  will,"  said  M.  Lucien,  making  way  for 
him  formally.  Every  inch  of  him  said,  to  an  unseen 
public :  "  You  see,  my  father's  wish  is  a  com- 
mand." 

Outside,  M.  Lemaure  turned  to  Yvonne,  who 
advanced  to  offer  him  her  strong  young  arm.  "  I 
thank  you,"  he  said,  as  he  took  it,  "  for  bringing 
me  his  words  correctly." 

The  tears  rose  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  he  has  been  ill  for  a  week." 

"  There  is  a  doctor  near  here  ?  "  said  the  old  man, 
pausing. 

"  Madame's  doctor  comes  this  evening." 

"  Good.  That  will  do."  He  was  going  slowly  up 
the  last  flight,  when  he  turned  to  her  again. 

"  Where  is  the  violin  ?  "  he  asked. 

Yvonne  hesitated  in  doubt.     "  Monsieur's  ?  " 

"  Madame's,"  said  M.  Lemaure.  Then  with  a 
smile  :  "  My  daughter's." 

"  Ah,  Dieu  merci !  "  The  girl's  face  flushed  all 
over.  "  It  is  below  there  in  the  music-room.  I  will 
get  it  for  Monsieur." 

M.  Lemaure  nodded,  dropped  her  arm,  and  climbed 
on  alone. 


320  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Philip,  when  he  entered  his  room  after  six,  found 
his  grandfather  in  occupation  ;  and  beside  him  on 
the  table  Antoine's  violin,  with  its  bow  alongside,  as 
though  lately  in  use.  He  had  learnt  from  his  aunt 
in  passing  of  his  presence  in  the  house,  so  that  the 
shock  was  lessened. 

M.  Lemaure  put  up  a  quick  warning  hand  as  the 
boy  entered,  and  he  shut  the  door  very  softly  behind 
him.  Then,  being  obviously  too  tall  for  the  situation, 
he  knelt  down  and  received  his  grandfather's  embrace 
and  blessing. 

"Is  it  all  right  ?  "  he  asked,  eagerly  and  low. 

M.  Lemaure  shook  his  head. 

"He  is  asleep,  though — really  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  not  too  soundly,  so  speak  low.  Is  it 
long  since  he  slept  ?  " 

"Days,"  said  Philip  briefly.  His  grandfather 
scanned  his  face. 

"  I  have  informed  the  doctor,"  he  said. 

"  You  think  him  ill,  then  ?  " 

"  111  ?  Do  you  not  perceive  how  changed  he  is  ? 
Most  certainly  he  is  ill." 

"  It  has  been  an  awful  time,"  said  Philip,  with  a 
short  sigh.  "  I  think — I  was  getting  frightened." 

"  I  think,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  "  that  I  guessed  it. 
I  came  to  take  my  share." 

"  Grandpapa  !  "  Philip  hid  his  face  in  his  arm 
against  the  chair,  for  he  was  now  sitting  on  the  floor. 
"  Oh — I  felt  such  a  sneak  !  Before  my  aunt  and 
everybody,  all  the  time." 

"  A  sneak,"  M.  Lemaure  repeated  reflectively. 
"  Yes,  I  believe  I  felt  that,  too  ;  at  least,  there  is  a 
sense  of  conspiracy.  Did  I  lie  to  your  aunt  lately,  I 
wonder  ?  How  many  misleading  statements  make 
a  lie,  Phil  ?  There  was  something  about  affairs  in 
London,  and  my  love  of  the  country — both  facts,  as 
it  happens,  for  I  always  have  affairs  in  London,  to 


PHILIP  321 

which  I  never  attend — but  not  at  all  the  reasons  of 
my  visit." 

'  You're  old  enough  to  know  better,"  said  Philip, 
half-laughing,  though  he  took  care  not  to  raise  his 
head.  The  double  relief  of  this  strong  support  and 
tenderness  in  one  nearly  overcame  him.  It  was  really 
fortunate  that  a  French  grandfather  was  so  indifferent 
to  weakness  of  this  nature.  M.  Lemaure  let  him 
recover  without  remark  :  indeed,  he  had  spoken  at 
length  to  give  him  time. 

"  You  have  been  playing,  sir  ?  "  said  Philip  pre- 
sently. 

"  I  played  to  him  a  little,  yes.  I  could  think  of 
nothing  better  to  soothe  him.  Thank  heaven,"  he 
added,  "  I  have  little  rheumatism  in  my  hands  as  yet. 
I  did  not  pay  so  badly  as  one  might  think." 

"  I  dare  say  you  didn't,"  said  Philip,  indignantly 
seizing  the  hand  referred  to.  "  Did  he  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say.  I  think  it  reached  him,  for  he  seemed 
quieter."  M.  Lemaure  smiled  suddenly.  "  It  dis- 
tressed the  little  dog  in  proportion,"  he  observed. 

"  Max  !  Did  you  take  him  in  ?  I  tried  for  half  an 
hour  to  make  him  come  out  with  me." 

"  He  had  reached  there  before  I  came.  He  was 
close  by,  imploring  to  be  noticed,  eyes  and  tail.  I 
tried  to  console  him." 

"  You  mean  Tony  didn't  ?  "  Philip  turned  his  head. 

"  He  cannot,  no.  He  barely  noticed  me.  For 
the  moment,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  "  he  has  no  love  left 
to  give. 

"Not  to  you?"  Philip  was  almost  shocked. 
"  When  you  have  come  on  purpose — didn't  he 
realise  ?  " 

M.  Lemaure  shook  his  head. 

"  No  reason  either,  you  see.  His  store,  I  mean,  of 
thinking  and  feeling  are  spent.  If  one  reflects  on 

what  that  means — and  with  such  as  Bebe "   For 

x 


322  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

one  instant  hot  indignation  flashed  in  his  face  and 
voice,  and  he  rose  to  his  feet  on  the  hearth.  He 
looked  down  upon  his  grandson,  clearly  impatient  to 
examine  him  ;  but  impulsive  as  he  naturally  was,  some 
innate  sense  of  justice  held  his  tongue.  M.  Lemaure's 
own  feeling,  though  a  strong  flood,  was  never  quite 
oblivious  of  reason.  The  highest-tempered  art  is  a 
finely  compounded  thing — impulse  alone  never  rules 
it,  attractive  though  that  theory  may  be.  The  rules 
by  which  M.  Lemaure  governed  himself  in  art,  he 
applied  quite  naturally  to  other  government,  such  as 
that  of  sons  and  grandsons.  The  boy  before  him  was 
clever,  he  knew  ;  but  he  was  young,  and  it  seemed 
unfair  to  try  him  too  much  in  such  a  situation  of 
delicacy  as  this  undoubtedly  was.  M.  Lemaure  pre- 
ferred to  pin  his  faith  in  science  ;  and,  gathering  up 
his  patience,  of  which  during  a  long  life  he  had 
amassed  a  certain  store,  he  resolved  to  wait. 

He  was  repaid  for  the  effort  when  the  doctor  came, 
and  before  an  hour  was  out  got  all  the  truth  he 
needed. 

Madame's  doctor,  selected  chiefly  because  he  was 
a  near  neighbour,  was  a  young  man,  sandy-haired 
and  shy.  Madame  trusted  and  admired  him  warmly, 
chiefly  because  she  could  make  him  do  exactly  as  she 
told  him  ;  for  Dr.  Scott  was  decidedly  afraid  of  the 
Frenchwoman  and  her  charms.  With  men,  however, 
he  was  far  better  ;  and  M.  Lemaure  liked  him  on 
sight,  only  thankful  that  a  blunt  manner  brought  him 
swiftly  to  the  point. 

In  the  character  of  a  neighbour  with  dogs,  he  knew 
Tony  a  little  ;  and  after  gathering  somewhat  the  state 
of  the  case,  he  asked  pointedly  to  see  the  boy  alone. 
Ten  minutes  sufficed  him  for  the  call,  and  he  marched 
back  into  the  drawing-room  looking  distinctly  vexed. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  M.  Lucien,  who  in  order  not  to 
waste  the  time  was  writing  letters  at  his  wife's  table. 


PHILIP  323 

"  Is  it  anything  ?  "  He  had  deferred  much  against 
the  grain  to  this  fad  of  his  father's.  Even  if  Antoine 
were  ill,  which  he  discredited,  he  thought  less  than 
nothing  of  English  country  doctors. 

"  Nothing  except  that  his  nerves  are  all  to  pieces," 
said  the  young  man  rather  gruffly.  "  A  case  of  neg- 
lect, if  you'll  excuse  my  saying  so.  Quite  uninten- 
tional, ah — I  dare  say."  He  looked  towards  Madame 
and  blushed.  "  These  cases  need  careful  handling, 
don't  you  know  :  and  they  must  be  taken  in  time,  or 
it  causes  such  needless  suffering  to  the — ah,  all  round." 

"  Who  has  been  suffering,"  said  M.  Lucien,  "  in 
this  instance  ?  " 

Dr.  Scott  turned  on  him. 

"  Can  you  look  at  that  boy  and  tell  me  he  has  not 
suffered  ?  "  He  swung  to  the  elder  M.  Lemaure. 
"  You  have  eyes,  perhaps,"  the  movement  said. 

"I  see  a  change,"  he  answered  the  mute  appeal. 
"  But  then,  I  arrive  from  outside." 

"  He  has  had  a  shock  ?  " 

"  So  I  hear  from  Philip.     The  death  of  a  friend." 

"  That  ?  "  said  M.  Lucien,  in  real  surprise.  "  He 
hardly  seemed  to  feel  it." 

"  Death,  at  that  age,  affects  in  many  ways,"  was 
his  father's  response,  absently  given. 

"  Hum,  yes,"  Science  agreed.  "  He  has  been 
exerting  his  brain  ?  Over-straining  himself  in  any 
way  ?  " 

M.  Lemaure  silently  referred  the  question  to  his 
son. 

"  Certainly  not,  for  me,"  said  that  gentleman  with 
decision.  Anything  but  it.  He  has  done  as  little 
work  as  he  could  for  a  week  past." 

"  Humph."  The  doctor  frowned.  "  He  is  nervous 
naturally,  of  course.  Imaginative,  and  so  on."  He 
indicated  the  spiritual  qualities  in  general,  and  with 
the  air  of  an  amateur  in  them. 


324  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Very,"  said  M.  Lemaure  quietly.  He  could  at 
any  rate  answer  that. 

"  His  temper  is  nervous  in  the  extreme,"  said  M. 
Lucien,  punching  little  holes  in  Madame's  blotting- 
paper  with  the  pencil  in  his  hand. 

"  Temper,  ha  !  " 

"  Antoine  is  sweet-tempered  as  a  rule,"  the  grand- 
father observed. 

The  doctor  standing  between  them,  was  aware  of 
strain.  He  bit  his  moustache,  and  considered  a 
moment,  looking  out.  Philip  with  Max  and  a  stick 
in  the  garden  caught  his  eye,  and  suggested  relief 
by  their  extremely  English  aspect.  Dealing  with 
foreigners  disturbed  him. 

"  Could  I  speak  to  Mr.  Philip  ?  "  he  said  suddenly. 

Madame  Lemaure  rose  from  where  she  had  been 
reposing  languidly  in  a  chair,  and  drew  back  the 
curtain  which  fell  across  the  open  door.  At  the 
sight  of  her,  Philip  and  Max  approached,  and  entered 
together.  The  boy  looked  shy  and  cross  ;  he  dis- 
liked the  publicity  of  it  very  much  ;  his  plan  had 
been  to  catch  the  doctor  outside,  and  his  look  at  that 
young  man  spoke  his  resentment.  Dr.  Scott  knew 
everything  he  felt.  He  became  formal  in  shyness, 
as  Philip  became  blunt. 

"  Er — you  are  in  your  brother's  confidence,"  he 
began. 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip. 

"  He  has  had  a  shock,  I'm  told.  A  painful  one." 

"  Yes."  No  ghost  of  qualification.  The  doctor 
brightened  up,  for  this  was  business. 

"  I  thought  he  might  have  been  exciting  his  brain 
in  addition,  but  your  uncle  tells  me  not." 

Philip  looked  at  his  uncle  swiftly. 

"  What  ?  "  he  ejaculated,  as  if  he  had  not  caught 
the  question  aright. 

"  Ah — he  has  !  "  Dr.  Scott  dissimulated  his  triumph. 


PHILIP  325 

"  My  uncle  knows,"  said  Philip  awkwardly. 
"  Perhaps  he  forgot.  I  mean — he  has  been  writing." 
His  confusion  was  evident. 

'  That   rubbish  ?  "   M.   Lucien  exclaimed. 

'  You  can  kill  yourself  with  rubbish,"  said  Philip 
between  his  teeth. 

"  It  has  been  done,"  agreed  the  doctor  cheerfully. 
"  I  understood  M.  Lemaure  to  say  he  had  not  been 
exerting  his  imagination.  You  disagree  ?  " 

Philip  looked  straight  at  him. 

"He  has  been  exerting  it,  to  my  knowledge,  day 
and  night  for  nearly  a  week." 

"  Good,"  said  the  doctor.  "  You  say  writing.  Of 
what  sort  ?  " 

"Composition.  Music."  ("  It's  done  now,"  thought 
Philip.) 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  His  grandfather's  voice  had  a 
new  ring  in  it. 

"  Ha,  here  is  the  very  person  to  inform  me."  Dr. 
Scott  turned  round  to  him.  "  I  am  so  ignorant  in 
these  matters,  sir.  You  would  call  that  form  of — 
er,  invention,  a  tax  on  the  faculties  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  greatest  tax  on  the  faculties  and  the  nerves 
that  I  can  conceive,"  was  the  instant  response.  "  I 
am  surprised  that  I  have  not  known."  His  eyes  were 
on  his  son.  Philip  and  the  doctor  turned  in  the 
same  direction. 

"  You  knew,  M.  Lemaure  ?  "  said  the  doctor  diffi- 
dently. 

"  I  knew  that  he  had  been  writing — something, 
last  night." 

"  But  you  could  not  prevent  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  stopped  it  at  once."  The  doctor 
nodded  satisfaction. 

"  Stopped  it,  Lucien  ?  "  His  father  caught  up  the 
word.  "  How  ?  " 

"  I  took  away  what  he  had  written,  mon  pere." 


326  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Before  he  had  finished  ?  "  ("An  excitable 
family,"  reflected  the  doctor.  "  That's  where  the  boy 
gets  it.") 

"  I — hardly  know.  I  did  not  look  at  the — thing." 
Contemptuous  patience  was  in  his  tone. 

"  It  was  not  finished,"  said  Philip  to  his  grand- 
father. "He  was  on  the  point  of  finishing  the  first 
part." 

"  Strung  up  to  the  point  ?  If  I  do  not  know  ! — 
sir  !  "  M.  Lemaure  turned  quickly  to  the  doctor. 
"  You  need  go  no  further.  It  was  enough  to  break 
his  heart  at  once.  I  only  marvel  that  it  did  not." 

"  Good  dog,"  said  Dr.  Scott  under  his  breath  to  Max. 
It  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  quite  time  to  begone. 

"  I'll  be  off  and  get  something  to  put  the  kid  to 
sleep,"  he  said,  forgetting  formality  in  his  hurry. 
"  I'll  look  in  again  later  on.  Excuse  me,"  and  he 
hastened  to  retreat. 

Max  went  after  him,  and  then  Philip. 

"  I  say,"  he  said  coming  up  with  him  on  the  path. 
"  You  are  a  beast.  Why  couldn't  you  come  out, 
instead  of  lugging  me  in  there  ?  " 

"  Awful  stew,  wasn't  it  ?  "  said  the  young  doctor 
with  sympathy.  "  No  other  way,  though,  when  it 
gets  to  that  point.  Things  have  to  come  out,  you 
know,  or  we  fellows  can't  get  going."  He  alluded 
to  the  medical  profession.  "  If  you'd  the  tips,"  he 
added,  condescendingly,  "you  might  have  told  me 
about  Tony  before.  I  don't  care  to  see  a  kid  in  that 
state,  more  particularly  one  I  like." 

"  Will  it  be  a  long  business  ?  "  said  Philip.  The 
doctor  shrugged. 

"  It's  jolly  easy  to  get  into  a  hole  from  which  it's 
jolly  hard  to  get  out,"  was  his  way  of  formulating 
his  newest  case.  "  But  I'll  do  what  I  can,"  he  added 
gruffly,  as  he  turned  at  the  gate.  "  You  leave  it  to  me 
Edgell,  and  get  back  to  dinner.  And  look  here  " — 


PHILIP  327 

realising   another   responsibility — "  don't    let   your 
aunt  worry  ;    that's  no  good." 

"  She  won't  much,"  said  Philip.     "  Hi,  Max." 

"  But — he  tore  it  up,"  said  Tony  to  his  grandfather 
when,  later  in  the  evening,  M.  Lemaure  laid  his  com- 
position in  his  hands.  The  papers  were  rolled  and 
bound  securely,  so  that  he  did  not  immediately  re- 
cognise them,  especially  as  his  brain  was  rather  slow. 
He  held  it  puzzled,  staring  intently  at  this  visitor  to 
his  dreams.  The  visitor  had  come  twice,  so  that 
really  things  began  to  look  as  if  he  might  be  genuine. 

"  It  is  all  there,"  said  M.  Lemaure  with  his  com- 
forting serenity.  "  Just  as  it  passed  from  thy  hands 
I  know  that  no  one  has  looked  at  it  since  it  left  this 
room." 

Laying  his  hand  over  Tony's  trembling  fingers, 
he  pushed  the  confining  band  off  the  roll  of  music. 
But  he  did  not  look  down  as  it  fell  open,  though  at 
the  moment  it  was  the  one  thing  in  all  the  world  that 
he  most  wished  to  see.  After  a  minute,  the  boy's 
eyes,  so  dangerously  dilated,  turned  to  him. 

"  You  did  not  read  it  ?  "  he  said. 

"  No,"  said  M.  Lemaure.  "  You  see,  it  is  not  mine 
to  read." 

"  His,"  said  Antoine.  "  He  said  so,  yes — but,"  he 
added  swiftly,  "it  is  not." 

"  Why,  no,  how  could  it  be  ?  "  M.  Lemaure,  weary 
of  standing,  sat  down  at  his  side. 

After  another  interval  of  contemplation,  Antoine 
pushed  it  from  him,  vaguely  in  his  grandfather's 
direction. 

"  I  am  tired,"  he  said.  "  It  is  not  finished,  and  I 
cannot  now  ;  but  you  will  see  how  I  meant." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  M.  Lemaure  with 
feeling  ;  and  taking  out  his  glasses,  he  fixed  them 
on  deliberately. 


328  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Again  Antoine  gave  him  a  moment's  flitting  atten- 
tion ;  he  must  be  right,  if  all  his  movements  corre- 
sponded so  remarkably  with  the  grandfather  he  had 
known,  a  very  long  time  ago,  in  that  little  room  above 
the  chestnuts  of  the  Luxembourg.  It  seemed  absurd 
though  that  he  should  be  here,  in  this  other  room 
that  he  had  once  loved,  that  now  suggested  torment 
alone  to  his  mind. 

M.  Lemaure,  still  keeping  his  hand  over  the 
boy's  hot  one,  gathered  up  the  sheets  with  the  other. 
Antoine  looked  out  of  the  window,  which  Yvonne 
had  opened  wide,  and  noticed  with  relief  that  the 
first  little  stars,  so  fine  as  to  need  some  faith  to  dis- 
cover, were  looking  through  the  fading  sky.  When 
the  sky  was  full  again,  the  strong,  painful  ideas — 
necessary  to  the  completion  of  that  music — might 
come  back.  He  did  not  want  them  much — he  dreaded 
them  rather — but  no  doubt  they  would  come.  At  pre- 
sent his  mind  was  happily  blank,  with  scarcely  even 
the  scattered  glimmer  of  the  sky  he  watched. 

His  grandfather  read  with  concentration  mean- 
while, for  he  had  not  long  before  the  doctor  came  to 
grasp  the  whole,  and  it  was  considerably  harder  than 
he  had  expected.  He  got  to  the  end,  or  rather  ran 
against  the  barrier  of  blank  paper  which  annoyed 
him,  and  then  turned  rapidly  back  to  the  beginning 
again,  that  he  might  pick  up  and  connect  all  the 
threads.  Next,  wondering  privately  what  the  doctor 
would  say  to  him  if  he  knew,  he  asked  a  few  ques- 
tions :  for  the  boy's  immature  manuscript — very 
hurriedly  written  besides — was  in  places  hard  to  de- 
cipher with  certainty.  Antoine  answered  him  easily 
and  at  once,  glancing  passingly  at  the  paper  and  then 
to  the  sky  again.  It  was  plain  that,  whatever  else 
had  grown  confused,  every  bar  was  written  on  his 
mind  up  to  the  point  where  he  had  been  inter- 
rupted. 


PHILIP  329 

"  C'est  $a,"  the  judge  said  satisfied,  and  finally 
dropped  the  scroll. 

"  You  like  it  ?  "  said  Antoine  presently,  the  new 
edge  to  his  voice  making  it  sharp  and  indifferent. 

M.  Lemauie  bowed  his  head,  unable  to  do  more. 
The  audacity  almost  appalled  him,  to  fling  oneself 
at  thirteen  on  these  unknown  seas  of  pain.  He 
knew,  looking  backward,  that  his  own  powers  had 
sprung  evenly  and  easily  ;  he  had  known  physical 
hardship  enough  in  his  youth — but  no  spiritual  tem- 
pests until  years  later  than  this  ;  yet  this  little  boy, 
placed  in  ease  and  tranquillity  such  as  he  had  never 
known,  had  already  anticipated  the  sorrows  of  life  to 
this  point.  The  alarm  he  had  felt  on  first  looking  on 
him  that  afternoon  had  some  foundation  now,  for 
the  evidence  was  clear  and  strong,  and  couched  in 
the  form  he  most  easily  recognised.  He  felt,  as  he 
had  already  often  felt  before,  a  correspondence  in 
the  instincts  of  expression  between  himself  and  this 
youngest  of  his  descendants  :  and  by  means  of  that 
affinity  he  had  been  able  to  follow,  and  to  follow 
swiftly,  not  only  what  he  had  written,  but  what  he 
had  intended  by  writing ;  for  the  written  expres- 
sion, though  astonishing  enough,  was  awkward  and 
childish  at  a  hundred  points. 

An  outburst  of  Max's  barking  below  the  window 
proclaimed  the  approach  of  the  doctor.  The  boy  drew 
back  impatiently  from  the  noise,  which  obviously 
hurt  him.  M.  Lemaure,  seeing  the  line  of  pain, 
rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  will  go  down,  n'est-ce-pas,  and  ask  your  dog 
from  you  to  be  more  gentle."  He  had  to  wait  for 
an  answer,  for  even  his  clear  words  were  slow  to 
penetrate. 

"  Yes,  please,"  said  Antoine,  without  troubling  to 
turn  his  eyes. 

M.  Lemaure  laid  his  strong  hand  on  the  boy's  hot 


330  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

brow,  hiding  the  painful  line  that  made  him  look  so 
old. 

"  Have  you  any  other  message,"  he  suggested, 
"  before  the  doctor  makes  you  sleep  ?  " 

"Tell  him,"  said  Tony  after  an  interval,  still 
absently  staring  out,  "  to  come  up  here  ;  because 
then  I  shall  say  that  I  am  sorry." 

For  one  minute  the  moralist  in  M.  Lemaure 
exulted.  It  only  needed  so  much  to  soothe  Lucien's 
irritable  feelings,  and  then  things  below  would  move 
so  much  more  easily.  He  smiled  down  encourage- 
ment. 

;'  That  is  all,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Tony,  turning  wearily  away.  "  That 
is  all  he  wants.  He  likes  to  sleep  with  me  ;  and — 
and  he  does  not  bark  when  he  is  here." 


MADAME  LEMAURE,  as  usual,  proved  to  be  right. 
Her  fath'er-in-law  stayed  a  week,  and  when,  owing 
to  a  necessary  engagement,  he  had  to  return  home, 
he  took  Antoine  with  him. 

Before  he  did  so,  he  approached  Dr.  Scott  on  the 
subject  with  the  greatest  care  and  circumspection, 
for  however  his  son  might  rail  at  his  ignorance, 
M.  Lemaure  believed  him  to  be  earnest  and  sincere, 
and  held  him  worthy  of  all  consideration  in  conse- 
quence. To  his  relief,  however,  he  found  diplomacy 
unnecessary,  for  his  first  advances  were  met  eagerly 
half-way.  The  young  doctor  opined  that  the  change 
in  itself  might  do  good,  and  that  in  any  case  he  would 
be  going  to  the  centre  for  first-rate  medical  opinion, 
should  it  prove  advisable  to  have  recourse  to  it.  He 
was  discreet  and  modest,  but  M.  Lemaure  gathered 
that  he  was  not  content  with  the  boy's  condition, 
saying  indeed  frankly  that  there  were  signs  he  "  did 
not  like."  The  journey  he  owned  was  a  difficulty, 
but  with  "  ordinary  luck  "  it  need  not  hurt  him  :  and 
as  Dr.  Scott  said,  "  you  are  the  man  to  do  it,  sir." 

"  Ordinary  luck  "  so-called  failed,  as  it  proved. 
Though  the  day  of  the  journey  began  pleasantly,  it 
rapidly  turned  intensely  hot,  and  before  night  the 
thunder  that  Antoine  dreaded  came  rolling  up  on  all 
sides.  For  years  afterwards,  M.  Lemaure  remembered 
that  transit  from  London  to  Paris,  familiar  to  him  as 
any  route  could  be,  as  a  slowly  intensifying  night- 
mare. Some  of  the  history  of  it  he  wrote  two  days 


332  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

later  to  his  son,  sparing  himself  no  abuse  in  the 
recital. 

M.  Lucien  handed  the  letter  to  his  wife,  with  the 
single  comment :  "  There  he  is  in  perfection." 

"  The  child  is  alive,  and  that  is  all  that  can  be  said. 
All  our  good  stars  failed  us,  his  and  mine  :  and  long 
before  we  reached  here  I  cursed  myself  for  cruelty. 
I  believe  as  a  fact,  Lucien,  I  made  every  mistake  it 
was  possible  to  make.  I  had  better  give  up,  and 
retire  to  my  chimney-corner. 

"  At  Victoria,  a  certain  lady  of  London,  whom  I 
barely  know  by  name,  recognised  me  for  my  sins  : 
and  demanded  to  add  me  to  her  suite  of  maid,  com- 
panion, dogs,  and  husband  (pardon,  I  should  have 
put  the  dogs  first,  then  the  order  is  correct,  in  a 
compartment  already  well-filled  by  these.  I  pleaded 
my  charge,  but  very  weakly,  for  she  chose  to  flatter 
him,  and  I  thought  she  had  a  heart.  I  forced  Antoine 
to  be  civil,  and  he  went  too  far  and  was  piquant  ;  then 
of  course  Madame  la  Duchesse  would  not  be  sepa- 
rated, and  overcame  us  both  with  attentions  all  the 
way.  It  was  an  ordeal,  for  he  excited  himself  rapidly 
in  the  heat,  and  I  knew  not  what  he  might  say,  though 
I  had  to  feign  amusement, 

"  On  the  sea,  thanks  to  Providence  and  a  breeze,  we 
escaped  her.  She  suffered  and  went  below.  I  kept 
the  child  in  the  wind  and  the  spray,  and  he  recovered 
his  senses,  though  he  was  white  enough.  At  Calais 
we  were  crowded  again,  for  though  I  had  spoken  to 
the  station-master,  owing  to  a  mistake  at  the  very 
last  moment  we  were  invaded  ;  English  once  more, 
and  a  typical  provincial  family  ;  boys  and  girls  and 
infants,  hats  and  parcels,  a  helpless  mother,  and  an 
aunt  sent  purposely  by  the  evil  one  for  Antoine's  tor- 
ment. I  must  feel  an  eternal  resentment  against  this 
lady,  for  no  better  reason  than  that  heaven  had  made 
her  ugly.  Her  heart  I  believe  was  very  kind,  her  in- 


PHILIP  333 

telligence  above  the  ordinary,  for  she  bore  the  whole 
burden  of  the  family  en  route  ;  but  her  features  were 
unsuitable  to  anything  but  a  carnival  nightmare,  and 
it  was  too  evident  that  Antoine  regarded  her  as  such. 
She  sat  directly  opposite  to  him,  and  I  felt  his  horror 
growing,  though  I  hardly  dared  look  down  to  observe 
it.  The  thunder  came  at  Amiens,  and  I  nearly 
alighted  there  .  .  .  would  that  I  had  !  All  the  hour 
after  that,  he  was  in  almost  intolerable  pain.  The 
frightful  lady  was  pitiful  and  offered  him  some  tea. 
You  may  imagine  he  was  rude  !  I  spoke  to  him 
sharply,  like  the  fool  I  was,  for  I  greatly  doubt  if  she 
followed  what  he  said,  and  forced  him  to  accept  her 
kindness.  But  he  was  too  far  gone  to  be  helped  by 
such  slight  stimulus.  I  gave  him  brandy,  which  was 
a  little  better,  but  added  to  the  fever. 

"  At  the  Nord  I  put  him  into  Michel's  charge  to 
convey  to  the  car,  and  then  kept  them  waiting  while 
I  aided  these  ladies,  who  did  not  find  the  friends 
they  expected,  and  whose  mountains  of  baggage 
perplexed  them.  Pfui !  why  were  women  ever  in 
the  world  ?  So  I  feel  to-day.  I  am  haunted  still  by 
the  terrible  smile  of  gratitude  which  madame  la 
tante  afforded  me.  I  trust  they  reached  their  hotel 
and  that  they  will  never  cross  my  path  again. 

"  When  I  got  back  to  the  car,  the  boy  was  nearly 
incapable,  and  I  still  see  Michel's  scowl  of  condem- 
nation. We  reached  home,  at  an  exceedingly  dan- 
gerous pace,  for  Michel  regarded  nobody  in  the  path. 
He  carried  Antoine  in  himself,  without  a  thought  to 
the  automobile,  up  all  the  flights  and  into  the  study  ; 
and  then  came  down,  still  scowling,  to  assist  me. 

"  Is  that  sufficient,  my  son,  as  confession  of  a 
day's  misdeeds  ?  By  no  means.  This  affair  at  the 
Institut  claimed  me  and  almost  immediately  I  aban- 
doned him  again.  I  believed  I  was  doing  right,  and 
though  Raymond  Savigny  has  abused  me  without 


334  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

stint,  I  still  incline  to  believe  so.  Antoine  implored 
me  to  stay  with  him,  haunted  evidently  by  that  goblin 
in  the  train.  I  reasoned  with  him,  informed  him 
that  he  was  foolish,  that  the  vision  was  unreal,  and 
such  trash  at  weary  length  ;  spoke  of  the  claims  of 
the  Institut,  of  the  needs  of  the  Blind,  his  great  eyes 
searching  me  for  pity  all  the  time.  Raymond  tells 
me  to  join  the  ranks  of  the  blind  myself,  since  I  am 
so  devoted  to  them,  and  it  is  so  evident  my  eyes 
are  of  no  use.  Oh,  he  was  furious  when  he  came 
to-day  !  By  a  stroke  of  fortune,  I  met  him  at  the 
soiree,  and  made  him  promise  to  come  and  see  the 
boy. 

'  Encore  la  famille,'  he  said  and  I  could  see 
he  thought  me  a  fool  for  my  insistence ;  yet  he  still 
has  regard  to  whatever  pertains  to  Henriette,  and 
fortunately  I  used  that  persuasion. 

"  He  came  in  a  crabbed  humour,  expecting  to  have 
to  dose  a  spoiled  child.  Well — I  had  my  revenge. 
I  never  saw  him  so  rapidly  interested  in  anything. 
I  presume  Antoine  fitted  into  some  department  of 
his  researches  which  demanded  a  specimen  as  demon- 
stration, he  got  him  in  his  arms,  under  the  spell 
of  his  eyes,  and  learnt  everything  :  the  night  he  had 
spent  with  that  cruel  vision  I  had  mocked — the  pain, 
the  horror  of  it :  how  he  had  angered  me  by  refusing 
to  go  out  in  the  morning,  for  fear  that  he  should 
meet  it  'dancing  in  the  street'  (his  words), |his 
horror  of  sleeping — a  thing  I  had  never  come  near 
to  realise — because  of  these  dreams  ;  all  his  long 
misery  laid  out  till  I  could  have  wept.  I  besought 
Savigny  to  stop  him  at  last,  for  his  will  was  doing  it, 
easy  to  be  seen.  He  just  smiled  and  said  '  enough  '  ; 
and  Antoine  dropped  his  head  back  with  the  words 
struck  off  his  tongue.  Finally  he  sent  him  to  sleep 
with  the  most  inspiring  facility.  I  never  saw,  even 
with  him,  the  power  pass  more  easily  ;  it  was  done 


PHILIP  335 

almost  by  a  look,  and  the  little  one  was  sleeping  in 
his  arms. 

"Then  came  my  turn.  Raymond  examined  me 
calmly,  as  I  never  wish  to  be  examined  again,  speak- 
ing aloud  without  fear  across  the  boy.  Of  course 
we  are  too  late  :  with  these  great  artists  that  is  invari- 
able. He  should  have  had  him  a  fortnight,  three 
weeks,  a  month  ago — as  if  in  this  ignorant  world 
such  things  are  possible  !  Now  he  has  him,  he  will 
not  let  him  go.  Hard  though  it  is,  I  foresee  I  shall 
have  to  part  with  him,  to  hand  him  over  to  the 
'  atelier  Savigny  '  in  the  Boulevard.  At  his  behest 
I  have  telegraphed  to  Jem.  Without  that  permission 
I  should  not  wish  indeed  to  take  the  responsibility, 
greatly  though  I  trust  him  professionally  and  love 
him  in  person.  He  desires  naturally  to  prove  his 
theories ;  and  to  have  such  a  good  subject  for  them 
as  a  boy  of  this  age  is  not  a  chance  to  be  thrown 
away.  I  feel  for  him,  though  I  could  slay  him  for 
the  arrogant  suggestion.  How  can  he — how  dare 
he — know  better  than  I?  "  ("Will  he  never  grow 
old  ?  "  his  son  murmured  reading.)  "  WThile  he  was 
under  that  trance,  he  examined  him  completely,  and 
he  declares  beyond  these  things  there  is  nothing 
wrong  at  all — that  he  is  both  sound  and  well-devel- 
oped physically.  For  this,  I  am  surprised  to  say,  he 
thanks  the  English  school.  For  an  over-weighted 
brain,  he  says  he  can  conceive  no  better  life  ;  for  the 
body  is  well  fed,  and  the  brain  is  not.  .  .  .  Keep  this 
from  Philippe  for  your  life  !  He  wants  even  passion- 
ately to  assume  possession,  I  can  see  ;  and  I  would 
stake  my  whole  experience,  confirmed  theorist 
though  he  is,  that  he  will  run  risks  with  a  baby  of 
Henriette's.  I  dare  not  say  this  to  James — especially 
by  cable ! — but  if  he  refuses,  as  seems  prob- 
able, I  will  see  what  some  persuasion  on  paper 
will  do." 


336  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Two  days  later  : 

"  A  single  word  from  Antoine's  father — of  consent. 
Magnificent,  is  he  not  ?  At  that  distance — but  I 
always  admired  his  courage.  So  soon  as  I  have 
delivered  up  my  charge,  I  start  on  a  pilgrimage  at 
Savigny's  instigation.  I  have  given  him  no  hint  of 
it,  but  some  thought  has  passed  to  him,  as  thoughts 
do,  betraying  that  I  am  unable  to  wait  here  in  my 
house — alone." 

That  was  all  that  Lucien  could  be  told.  But  as 
that  year  grew  old,  age  descended  swiftly  also  on 
M.  Lemaure. 

The  late  March  sun  was  gilding  the  greenest 
corner  of  the  gardens  of  the  Luxembourg,  glittering 
thinly  and  gaily  on  men  and  things  as  it  only  deigns 
to  do  in  Paris.  Under  the  budding  peach-trees,  each 
the  central  object  of  a  dainty  little  picture,  the  new 
grass  was  springing,  sparsely  as  yet,  but  with  evident 
determination  sooner  or  later  to  produce  the  good 
effect  of  an  English  lawn.  From  the  low,  black 
branches  of  the  lime-trees  fat  pigeons  dropped 
mutely  among  the  children  who  fed  them,  and  the 
chattering  sparrows  darted  among  them  disputing 
the  spoil.  Behind  the  railings  trim  espaliers  were 
already  promising  the  hoary  white  of  pear-blossom  ; 
and  the  bloused  and  belted  }^outh  of  France  were 
permitted  for  the  first  time  by  their  watchful  parents 
to  kick  their  footballs  under  the  feet  of  loiterers  in 
the  avenue  where  the  vista  is  closed  by  a  vision  of 
the  Pantheon  dome. 

Innumerable  visitors  were  passing  and  repassing 
over  the  walks,  visitors  of  many  nations,  classes,  and 
ages :  from  the  long-haired,  loose-lipped  student 
whose  native  haunt  it  was,  to  a  brown  ayah  guarding 
pretty  pale  babies,  and  a  lank  English  girl  settling 


PHILIP  337 

feverishly  to  the  business  of  a  holiday.  Generally 
speaking,  the  glances  that  passed  conveyed  good- 
humoured  tolerance ;  very  rarely  this  verged  on 
curiosity  or  mockery,  for  Paris  is  a  good  hostess  and 
courteous  to  her  guests.  Most  rarely  of  all  a  glance 
became  a  stare,  but  a  temptation  to  such  staring  may 
have  been  observed  in  those  who  passed  a  certain 
seat.  It  was  occupied  by  a  single  lady,  badly  dressed 
in  black,  who  seemed,  although  English  in  every 
line  of  her  awkward  figure,  singularly  indifferent  to 
observation,  for  she  neither  shrank,  feigned  occupa- 
tion, nor  even  looked  aside  from  the  casual  starer, 
but  glanced  back  again  with  a  certain  vigorous 
interest  in  the  persons  and  the  scene  about  her,  as 
though  for  the  moment  her  whole  object  was  to  lose 
herself  and  take  it  in.  Only  once  she  was  seen  to 
move  from  her  seat :  when  a  small  boy,  solemnly 
guiding  an  immense  air-balloon  on  a  string,  with  his 
black  eyes  raised  and  fixed  on  its  glorious  form 
against  the  light  spring  sky,  tripped  over  a  wire 
palisade  and  fell  prone  on  the  grass.  With  a  howl 
of  despair  he  let  go  his  string,  and  the  balloon,  in 
a  frisky  wind,  went  wandering  in  the  lady's  direction. 
She  caught  it  neatly  with  one  bare  hand  and,  rising 
from  her  place,  set  the  small  boy  on  his  legs.  Then, 
while  he  vaguely  rubbed  his  velvet-shorn  head  in 
doubt  whether  to  cry,  she  returned  the  string  to 
him  with  an  encouraging  nod.  That,  and  the 
pleasant  smile  accompanying  it,  restored  the  young 
Frenchman  to  philosophy. 

"  It  appears,"  said  he,  staring  vaguely  about  him 
and  rubbing  still,  "  that  one  has  lost  one's  equili- 
brium." The  lady,  nodding  again,  laughed  aloud  on 
a  very  pleasant  note  and  returned  to  her  former  seat. 

She  had  quite  lost  herself  in  meditation  when 
approaching  voices  aroused  her.  Two  old  men, 
French  evidently,  both  interesting  in  face,  though 

Y 


338  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

singularly  unlike,  approached  along  the  path  from 
the  Observatory  avenue.  They  stopped  in  the  shade, 
and  glanced  at  the  lady.  She  was  abstracted 
evidently,  and  patently  a  foreigner. 

"  See,  is  there  anything  to  equal  it  ?  "  said  one. 
"  Here  is  a  place  where  it  is  a  sin  to  be  old.  If  one 
could  rest  a  moment,  Savigny." 

The  other  and  more  vigorous  of  the  two  looked  at 
his  watch,  and  while  he  did  so  the  English  lady  flung 
him  a  glance.  The  name  was  unusual,  and  happened 
to  be  known  to  her.  She  had  already  said  to  herself 
privately,  "  a  crank  "  :  and  he  fitted  the  title  every 
inch.  He  was  taller  than  his  companion,  loose- 
limbed  and  shambling,  with  the  rounded  shoulders 
of  the  student,  and  the  queerest  eyes  she  had  ever 
seen  in  a  human  face.  Cold  and  cutting  eyes,  though 
the  shape  and  setting  of  them  was  benevolent. 

"There  is  no  such  thing,"  said  the  first  speaker, 
who  had  dropped  himself  into  a  seat,  "  as  time.  Go, 
Raymond,  if  thou  hast  to  go.  Here  is  my  limit." 
He  leaned  back,  seemingly  weary. 

"  Good,"  said  the  other  with  a  jerk.     "  I  go." 

"  See  him  chew  the  bit,"  his  friend  mocked  mildly. 
"  Why  not  wait  an  instant,  and  permit  yourself  a 
thought  under  a  tree.  '  A  green  thought  in  a  green 
shade.' ' 

"The  lady  lifted  her  eyebrows,  for  the  English  words 
were  beautifully  spoken. 

' '  Bah,  I  have  no  leisure  for  green  thoughts.  Mine 
are  dust-coloured  with  the  road." 

"  Eh  ?  Why  do  you  linger  then  ?  "  His  friend 
watched  him.  "  You  know,  you  have  given  me 
nothing  at  all  to-day.  Must  I  then  go  home  unfed  ?  " 

"  You  lose  faith,  hein  ?  "  The  steely  eyes  fixed 
him  suddenly. 

"  I  think  not :  only  patience.  I  never  did  cultivate 
patience,  Raymond." 


PHILIP  339 

"  Drop  it  then  : — a  worthless  thing.  All  I  ever 
had  is  hardened,  changed  in  form  and  in  name." 

"  Ah  ?     What  do  you  call  it  now  ?  " 

"  Indifference.     I  am  cold." 

He  stood  upright  as  a  dart,  looking  over  his 
companion's  head.  He  looked  indeed  as  cold  as  a 
northern  iceberg,  as  hard,  and  as  sharp-edged,  too. 

"  You  " — he  dropped  his  eyes — 'k  will  never  be 
indifferent.  You  are  hot  to  the  surface,  after  all 
these  years  that  I  have  known  you.  Be  thankful, 
Lemaure,  that  your  trade  is  not  mine." 

The  lady  on  the  seat  moved  again.  Evidently  she 
had  fallen  into  distinguished  company  in  this  unpre- 
tentious garden  of  the  people. 

"  I  am  thankful,"  said  the  older  man  slowly, 
"  that  your  trade  is  yours."  Then  his  voice  changed. 
"  Raymond,  have  pity,"  he  said.  "  May  I  see  him 
soon  ?  " 

The  other  one  paused,  and  scanned  the  grass, 
smiling  slightly  with  his  cold  eyes  intent. 

"It  is  himself  you  would  see,  eh  ?  Not  the  toy 
with  which  I  play." 

"  Do  not  torment  me,"  said  the  other.  "  You  are 
not  what  you  represent  yourself  to  be,  and  never 
have  been." 

"  Eh  ?     What  do  I  represent  myself  to  be  ?  " 

"  \Vhat  nobody  is.  The  dissecter  without  heart ; 
the  human  experimentalist  who  is  inhuman.  It  is 
not  possible." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"  It  would  entertain  me  to  the  world's  end,"  said 
the  tall  man,  "  to  experiment  on  you.  You  are  the 
most  interesting  man  in  the  world,  for  you  have  but 
one  self.  Good  heavens  !  does  one  have  one  hat  ? 
Have  another,  Lemaure.  It  is  too  good  for  common 
use.  See  only  now,  this  moment,  how  you  wear  it, 
waste  it — and  for  what  ?  " 


340  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  For  what  ?  Raymond,  you  have  no  children.  My 
other  self  is  in  your  hands.  Do  you  not  know  it  ?  " 

The  lady  in  black  was  sitting  very  still — needfully 
so,  it  seemed.  If  she  understood  them,  it  seemed 
impossible  that  she  should  remain  sitting  there  ;  for 
the  last  words  were  trembling  with  the  passion  one 
does  not  choose  to  overhear. 

There  was  perfect  silence,  except  for  the  birds,  in 
the  sunlit  garden. 

"  What  are  children  ?  "  said  the  tall  man  in  a  harsh 
voice,  letting  his  eyes  stray  to  the  sunny  paths,  where 
many  children  played.  "  Why  should  I  care  for 
them  ?  Take  your  sentiment,  your  poetry  away — 
they  are  but  unfinished  facts.  It  is  the  fulfilled  fact 
that  I  seek  and  must  continue  seeking,  the  perfect 
man." 

"  Seek  him,"  said  the  other  quickly.  "  Leave  us 
the  children.  What  are  they,  indeed  ?  Possibilities, 
renewals,  promises — banality  you  say  no  doubt,  but 
truth.  Banality  is  always  that.  The  only  perfect 
thing  in  this  imperfect  world  is  promise,  Savigny. 
All  this  year,  this  garden  will  never  be  such  again  as 
we  see  it  now." 

"  Ah,  what  a  theory  of  desperation,"  the  other 
said,  crushing  the  edge  of  the  young  grass  with  his 
foot. 

"  Yes,  I  am  desperate,"  said  the  first  speaker  quite 
gently.  "  I  confess  it  has  come  to  that." 

Savigny  maltreated  the  grass  for  a  minute  longer. 

"  Well  " — he  paused  to  sigh  sharply — "  no  other 
man  than  you  should  tempt  me  to  betray  ;  and  I 
shall  regret  it  for  certain  before  the  hour  is  out. 
Your  promise  is  safe,  my  friend.  I  only  guard  it  in 
the  dark  a  little  still,  because  the  light  is  so  much 
to  bear,  though  the  night  is  over." 

"  And  you  say  you  are  no  poet,"  said  the  other, 
after  a  stillness.  "  Raymond,  you  are  the  poet  of 


PHILIP  341 

life  !  Leave  the  others  to  their  words."  His  voice 
was  trembling  greatly. 

"  I  did  not  promise,  hey  ?  "  said  the  cranky  man, 
still  harshly.  "  But  see— I  fulfil." 

"  May  I  see  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,  soon.  I  will  not  be  hurried,  mind  you." 
He  gave  one  of  his  impatient  jerks.  "I  let  you 
come,  and  what  follows  ?  I  have  remade  him  faith- 
fully— and  you  take  him  from  me."  He  threw  his 
long  limbs  suddenly  into  a  chair  beside  his  friend. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  smiled  M.  Lemaure.  "  You  do  not 
care  for  children." 

"  That  is  not  a  child.  Good  heavens  !  It  is  a  spirit 
—adorably  complete.  You  parents — you  triflers," 
Savigny  cried,  shaking  the  chair  he  grasped,  for  he 
was  planted  sideways  in  it.  "  Saying  you  know  them 
when  you  know  the  colour  of  their  eyes  and  hair — 
or  perchance  the  shape  of  their  nails  !  I  know  the 
colour  of  his  spirit,  Lemaure.  I  have  had  it  like  a 
bird  to  look  at  all  the  winter.  It  had  no  master,  for 
I  took  his  will  from  him,  that  he  might  rest.  How 
many  of  us  could  trust  our  masterless  spirit,  my 
friend  ? — how  many  ?  How  many  even  have  a 
spirit  at  all  to  trust  ?  " 

Both  men  were  silent  again.  The  lady,  doubtless 
proving  her  theory  that  this  was  a  crank  indeed,  sat 
silent  too.  She  might  have  been  asleep  for  all  the 
movement  she  made,  or  one  of  the  dark  bronze 
figures  of  the  garden. 

"  But  now  I  give  him  back  his  will,"  said  Savigny 
gently,  poking  at  the  grass  with  his  stick,  "  and  he 
begins  to  hate  me." 

"  Never  !     Do  not  say  it." 

"  It  must  be  so.  That  is  my  fate.  Sometimes  I 
doubt  if  the  gods  like  us  to  trifle  with  these  great 
things  ;  for  the  penalty  they  send  is  heavy.  That  is 
why  I  have  made  my  armour  of  indifference." 


342  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  But  he  will  love  you,  Raymond.     He  must." 

"  No.  Ask  yourself,  how  can  he  ?  I  have  been 
the  one  thing  in  his  dark  world  to  fear.  I  have 
gathered  all  his  terrors  into  myself,  of  deliberate 
purpose.  I  have  imprisoned  him,  tormented  him, 
crushed  him  back,  stood  black  in  his  path  when  he 
tried  to  see  the  truth.  I  am  Anti-truth  to  him, 
Lemaure  :  the  Arch-deceiver.  He  cannot  love  me. 
He  should  not." 

"  You  hid  the  truth  when  he  could  not  bear  it," 
said  the  old  man  quickly.  "  Now  he  will  see  it 
again,  and  you  in  the  light  of  Truth." 

Savigny  smiled,  a  slow  smile,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  There,"  he  said,  looking  down  with  his  icy  eyes, 
"  are  some  very  pretty  fables.  You  surmise,  my 
poet :  but  I  have  known.  How  many  have  I  cured, 
with  no  love  to  show  for  it  ?  Money — a  trifle  of 
fame  perhaps — much  abuse — that  tasteless  sub- 
stance gratitude — but  no  love."  He  paused  and 
smiled  again.  "  Antoine  is  great,  perhaps,"  he  said, 
"  but  not  so  great  as  that." 

And  pulling  his  loose  frame  together  with  a  jerk, 
he  moved  forward.  "  Come  on  Sunday  at  five,"  he 
said  suddenly  across  his  shoulder.  "  And  be  sure 
you  cultivate  indifference — for  I  will  not  have  him 
frightened." 

After  a  short  interval  his  friend  rose  too,  and 
limped  into  the  open.  For  the  first  time  he  faced 
the  lady,  and  noticed  that  she  was  crying.  Her  tears, 
her  mourning  dress,  and  her  strong  face,  appealed 
to  him  in  combination  :  and  he  feared  she  had  been 
distressed  by  their  ignorant  intrusion  on  her  solitude. 
Hanging  doubtful  a  second,  he  uncovered,  and  said 
a  gentle  "  Pardon,"  before  he  passed  on  his  way. 

The  very  same  evening,  M.  Lemaure  received  a 
letter,  left,  it  appeared,  by  a  messenger  with  the 


PHILIP  343 

concierge.    It  was  in  a  remarkable  hand  and  in 
English. 

"  DEAR  SIR,"  it  ran. 

"  First  I  make  a  confession.  I  heard  the  whole 
of  your  conversation  in  the  garden  this  morning  with 
Raymond  Savigny.  His  is  a  name  I  know  well,  for 
my  husband  in  his  life-time  was  one  of  his  earliest 
and  warmest  admirers  in  our  unscientific  country. 
That  was  one  thing  that  interested  and  held  me 
— the  other  was  the  boy  you  spoke  of.  There 
was  no  divination.  I  knew  my  Tony's  guardians 
were  Lemaures  in  England,  and  you  yourself  are  as 
like  him  as  youth  and  age  can  ever  be.  I  could  not 
have  missed  the  likeness  when  you  paused  before 
me  that  moment,  and  I  nearly  spoke.  But  I  had  no 
courage  :  and  my  contribution  to  the  knowledge  of 
the  world  shall  be  on  paper,  as  henceforth  it  will 
always  be.  I  have  strangely  lost  the  power  to  con- 
verse, since  I  lost  the  boy  who  always  talked  with 
me  ;  and  I  have  resumed  in  a  measure  the  power 
to  write,  which  I  laid  aside  at  the  tune  of  my 
marriage. 

"  Enough  of  myself  :   I  write  of  Tony. 

"  I  treated  him  badly,  and  knew  that  I  did  so.  My 
boy  accused  him  of  betraying  a  secret,  all-important 
to  him,  which  resulted  in  his  leaving  school ;  which 
resulted  in  hardship,  which  gave  its  chance  to  the 
disease  that  watched  him  always.  I  never  believed 
Tony's  action  was  deliberate  ;  though  Douglas  in 
his  anger  declared  he  wished  his  brother  to  win 
the  prize,  and  so  betrayed  him  to  the  boys  who 
destroyed  his  paper.  Tony  could  not  have  laid  a 
plot  of  the  elaborate  sort  he  chose  to  credit,  my 
heart  and  reason  told  me.  His  actions  spring  too 
directly  from  the  moment,  he  is  too  natural,  too 
'  objective  '  as  they  say — and  too  young.  Douglas 


344  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

never  allowed  for  his  youth,  though  he  was  always 
complaining  of  it :  and  feeling  greatly  injured,  he 
clung  to  his  theory.  He  even  shook  me  a  little  by 
declaring  that  Tony  had  been  alone  with  his  so- 
called  enemies  during  a  walk  the  day  before  the 
paper  disappeared  :  and  that  being  charged  with  the 
betrayal,  he  had  not  denied  it.  Still,  I  never  thought 
he  had  been  more  than  reckless,  as  he  always  was, 
and  perhaps  faithless  a  little.  I  let  myself  think  of  him 
lightly — it  was  easy  in  my  distraction — till  the  time 
when  Philip's  letter  came,  a  brave  letter  and  a  good 
one,  begging  me  to  help  Tony  for  his  reason's  sake. 

"  And  by  then,  sir,  I  was  indifferent.  What  your 
friend  said  to-day  of  indifference  touched  me  very 
nearly.  My  long  patience  '  hardened  '  too,  like  his. 
I  could  think  of  nothing  but  self-pity  in  my  loneliness. 

"  But,  you  will  say,  he  was  lonely  too.  So  he  was, 
for  genius  is  always  lonely.  But  I  did  not  think  of 
that  then.  I  told  myself  he  had  friends  about  him, 
that  life  was  full  for  him,  that  a  poor  remnant  like 
myself  could  matter  to  no  one,  least  of  all  a  bright 
young  thing  like  that.  But  beneath  the  surface  I 
knew  I  was  a  traitor  all  the  time  :  and  that  he  needed 
me,  as  he  had  shown  me  once  before.  I  was  a 
coward  simply  in  choosing  oblivion  ;  and  now  that 
my  oblivion  is  invaded  by  knowledge  of  the  danger 
he  has  passed  through,  I  am  repaid.  It  was  the  truth 
I  was  afraid  of,  not  Tony.  I  am  still  afraid  of  the 
truth  I  should  find  in  his  eyes,  of  which  yours  this 
morning  reminded  me.  I  cannot  approach  him  now. 
With  Savigny's  help,  he  has  started  on  a  new  stage 
of  life.  The  past  is  past,  and  he  had  better  forget. 

"  I  give  no  address  and  no  date,  for  I  am  going  on, 
and  this  is  to  be  destroyed.  If  ever  you  find  the 
picture  of  his  little  soul  in  a  book,  you  will  know  I 
painted  it.  But  he  will  be  great  before  I  am. 

"  ELIZABETH  D.  ARCHERSON." 


PHILIP  345 

It  was  in  this  way  that  his  grandfather  could  meet 
Antoine  the  Sunday  following,  knowing  the  last  of 
the  truth. 

The  same  Sunday  evening,  Savigny  gave  him  leave 
to  wire  once  more  a  few  words  to  Jem  ;  and  the  next 
day  he  wrote  himself  the  last  of  his  careful  series  to 
the  man  who  had  formerly  been  his  rival,  and  en- 
closed another  short  slip  within  it. 

"  DEAR  PAPA, — 

"  I  shall  not  write  much  to  you  because  Savigny 
says  so,  and  because  my  English  has  now  got  diffi- 
cult again.  That  is  rather  a  pity  when  you  said  I 
was  geting  decent. 

"  I  am  sorry  "  (underlined)  "  that  I  was  bad  to  get 
ill.  It  did  not  need  that  he  should  tell  me  I  was  bad 
and  stupid,  because  I  knew  that.  Only  I  had  to  tell 
him  all  what  I  thought,  and  so  I  made  him  angry. 

"  That  is  finished  now,  and  since  a  lot  of  weeks  I 
want  to  be  well,  so  I  believe  he  has  forgotten  the 
other  part.  Only  very  sometimes  his  eyes  are 
dreadfull  (that  is  to  spell  like  bread  I  think)  like  for 
example  because  I  was  a  fool  to  cry  when  Grandpapa 
went  away.  He  said,  I  should  not  be  a  fool  and  I 
should  tell  him  what  I  realy  wished.  So  I  said  I 
wished  to  go  back  to  live  there,  soon  before  my  birth- 
day. And  he  said  yes  I  shall  go.  After  that  I  was 
realy  awfuly  polite,  because  he  was  so  decent.  Yes 
and  imagine  to  know  just  in  looking  when  one  is  not 
polite  inside.  That  is  horrid  for  a  man  and  enough 
to  have  blue  spectacles  all  the  time. 

"  I  am  very  happy  to-night  when  I  write  to  you,  so 
that  you  see  how  each  line  becomes  more  mad  and 
curious.  I  think  this  last  one  shall  go  round  the 
paper,  and  you  who  so  like  straight  lines !  " 

After  a  particularly  splendid  signature  he  scrawled  : 
"  I  wish  you  would  come  now  on  one  very  straight 
line  home." 


VI 

ALL  the  house-boys  had  arrived  and  were  shut  com- 
fortably in  their  various  rooms  when  there  was  a 
knock  at  Mr.  Alexander's  door. 

"  Ah.  How  are  you,  Edgell  ?  Caught  the  last 
train,  that's  right.  Alone  ?  "  The  headmaster 
glanced  behind  him  as  Philip  shut  the  door. 

"  I'm  sorry,  sir.  I  thought  you  wanted  to  see 
me"  A  gentle  accent  was  marked.  Mr.  Alexander 
laughed. 

"  So  I  do.  I  was  only  afraid  you  had  arrived  with- 
out him  after  all.  Your  brother  has  come  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes.     I've  got  him." 

"  You  waited  at  the  junction  ?  "     Philip  nodded. 

"  How  long  ?  " 

"  Some  time."  Then  at  the  inviting  look, — 
"  three  hours." 

"  My  dear  boy  !    Was  there  no  other  train  ?  " 

"  None,  from  our  wretched  place." 

"He  came  through  from  Paris,  eh  ?  Might  you 
not  almost  better  have  waited  here  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  think  not."  Edgell  coloured.  "  It's  a 
matter  of  taste." 

"  So  it  is.     You  had  not  seen  him  at  all  since " 

"  Not  since."    Mr.  Alexander  understood  perfectly. 

"  He  looks  better,  I  hope  ?  ': 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  all  say  he's  well,  so  I  suppose  he 
is." 

"  Changed  ?  Bound  to  be,  of  course."  Alexander 
was  piercing  Philip's  beautifully  impassive  look. 

346 


PHILIP  347 

"  You've  had  a  good  holiday,  I  hope ;   you  needed 
it." 

"  I'm  all  right,  sir."  He  fiddled  with  the  papers 
on  the  cloth. 

"  Not  reading  too  much  ?  " 

"  I've  been  with  Drake  at  Oxford."  Edgell  smiled 
faintly. 

"  That's  why  you  look  so  stale  then.  You  young 
donkeys  !  With  the  open  weather  we've  been  having 
too." 

"  Easter's  so  short :  not  worth  doing  more 
with." 

"  Rubbish.  A  few  hours  will  give  you  golf.  Good 
news  of  your  father,  Edgell  ?  " 

'  Yes,  sir.    He'll  get  home  in  July." 

"  Really  ?  His  line  is  finished,  then  ?  I  congratu- 
late you." 

"  Thanks.  I  think  this  time  he'll  really  come.  He 
says  he  must,"  Philip  added  suddenly,  "  if  it's  only 
to  shake  hands  with  Savigny." 

"  Yes,  indeed.  How  anxious  he  must  have  been. 
He  had  confidence  though  ?  " 

"He  said  he  could  trust  him  like  one  of  the 
immortals." 

"  Yes,  yes."  Mr.  Alexander  rose.  "  Savigny  deals 
with  things  that  mortals  cannot  tackle — things  that 
are  more  than  life  and  death." 

;'  That's  what  he  means,"  said  Philip. 

"  I  am  thankful,"  said  the  headmaster,  "  for  you  all." 
He  took  Philip's  hand.  "  As  far  as  I  can  make  out 
the  pluck's  been  level  all  round — yours,  and  his,  and 
M.  Lemaure's.  As  for  the  boy " 

"  Wait  till  you  see  him,  sir,"  said  Philip,  drawing 
his  hand  back  and  himself.  "  There's  been  some 
pluck  wanted.  Shall  I  send  him  ?  " 

"  He's  had  a  long  journey,  isn't  he  tired  ?  Perhaps 
to-morrow " 


348  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Philip  hesitated  ;   then  half  smiled. 

"  I  think,  if  you  don't  send  for  him,  he — he'll  come." 

Mr.  Alexander  also  smiled  grimly,  and  drew  his 
papers  about  him  on  all  sides. 

"  Tell  him  I  am  exceedingly  busy,  but  I  have  a 
minute — during  which  I  expect  him  to  report  him- 
self. That  will  do,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Edgell,  "  if  you  keep  him  to  the 
minute." 

"  Ah.    They've  not  stopped  his  tongue  ?  " 

"  Not  all  the  doctors  in  the  world "  and  Philip 

vanished. 

He  did  what  boys  naturally  did  in  that  solemn 
presence,  slipped  in  and  out.  Antoine,  entering  five 
minutes  after,  took  possession  of  the  room.  He  also 
came  to  the  headmaster  as  one  certain  of  a  welcome  ; 
and  it  would  have  needed  a  stiffer  pedagogue  than 
Alexander  not  to  give  it. 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,"  said  Antoine.  "  Oh,  I 
forgot  to  shut  the  door."  He  remedied  this  omission 
as  though  he  had  come  to  stay,  and  then  looked  all 
round  the  study.  "  It  is  funny  to  be  here,"  he  said. 
"  Things  are  so  the  same  in  schools." 

"  Why,"  Alexander  remarked,  "  you  have  for- 
gotten your  English." 

"  Yes,  I  have.  I  have  not  been  in  England  since 
— since  "  (he  ran  over  his  fingers  on  the  table)  "  seven 
months.  Seven  !  " 

"  Does  it  seem  less  ?  " 

"  No — more.     Not  months,  not  years  :    just — 
he  signified  a  gulf.     "  You   are  very   busy."     He 
approached  the  table. 

"  Didn't  your  brother  tell  you  so  ?  " 

"  Philippe  ?  Yes,  he  told  me.  But  you  wished 
to  see  me  ?  " 

A  look  accompanied  this  under  which  the  head- 
master's dignity  tottered.  "  Of  course  I  did.  I 


PHILIP  349 

have  a  letter  to  thank  you  for."    He  put  his  hand 
on  a  certain  box." 

"  It  came  ? — they  told  me  I  was  not  to  write.  They 
did  not  know.  I  wonder,  could  you  understand  ? 
You  see,  to  write — to  say  what  is  true — when  one  is 

ill " 

"  I  know.    I  understood.     I  wished  you  had  not 
tormented  yourself." 
"  But  you  wrote  to  me." 

"  I  was  wrong  to  ask  the  question.  If  I  had  known, 
I  would  not  have  worried  you,  Tony.  I  thought  you 
had  a  secret,  and  needed  help  to  say  it.  I  saw  you 
were  wretched,  that  last  term."  He  drew  him  closer. 
Antoine  lifted  his  black  eyes  straight  to  him,  and 
Alexander  saw  at  once  the  months  of  suffering 
through  which  he  had  passed.  Philip  was  right 
enough  as  to  that.  "There  was  nothing  to  tell," 
Alexander  interpreted.  The  boy  shook  his  head 
mutely.  "  That  was  the  worst  of  it,  eh  ?  It  just 
was,  like  all  the  aching  facts  of  life." 

"  Aching — oh,  yes."  He  caught  at  the  word.  "  It 
was  silly  to  be  ill,  wasn't  it  ?  "  he  said  timidly. 
"  Because  of  course  there  are  lots  of  things  like  that." 
It  was  half  a  question,  and  he  waited.  "  Fancy  to 
be  ill  every  time  somebody  died  !  And  to  die  your- 
self is  to  be  just  a  coward."  He  seemed  to  recite  a 
lesson,  to  which  Alexander  lent  the  closest  attention. 
"  I  never  knew  how  it  was  easy  to  die,"  Antoine 
pursued  in  a  conversational  tone.  "  But  that  is  for 
a  coward,  because  it  is  easy.  Do  you  know  M. 
Savigny  ?  " 

"  Not  personally.     Did  he  tell  you  that  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He  knows  about  it." 

"  He  scolded  you,  did  he  ?  " 

"  He  was  very  angry,  often."    The  boy  paused 
frowning. 

"  It  must  have  been  worse  than  school,"  Alexander 


350  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

suggested,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand.  Antoine 
laughed  sharply. 

"  Oh,  not  the  same  at  all.  You  were  never  angry 
like  that.  School !  " 

Alexander  realised  a  little  more  through  the  laugh. 

"  A  big  illness,"  he  said,  "  is  the  severest  school 
there  is.  But  they  have  given  you  holidays  since, 
Tony,  haven't  they  ?  It  was  not  school  to  the  end 
of  the  time." 

"No.  Only  while  I  was  with  him.  Grandpapa  is 
different,  of  course." 

"  You  stayed  on  in  Paris  ?  " 

"He  has  to,  you  see.  But  since  just  three  weeks, 
we  have  been  to  Savoie.  That  was  beautiful." 

The  last — Antoine's  own  word — relieved  the  strain. 
Alexander  felt  a  certain  delight  to  hear  it  in  his 
accents  again  :  it  seemed  to  recall  the  boy  of  a  year 
ago — for  this  was  not  he. 

"  I  am  glad  you  had  something  beautiful  to  finish. 
Had  you  music  too  ?  " 

"  A  little,  yes.  It  has  come  back.54  His  brow 
knit  up,  and  to  Alexander's  surprise,  his  colour  rose. 
"  I  must  not — do  too  much,"  he  said. 

"Was  I  to  be  told  that?  " 

"  Yes."  Then  he  broke  out.  "  But  it  is  no  use 
telling  !  If  I  do  too  much,  you  will  not  know." 

"  No  one  will  know,  but  yourself." 

"No  one  but  myself."  His  mouth  set,  and  he 
threw  up  his  head.  "  Still,  I  have  told  you." 

"  Whose  law  is  it  ?  " 

"  His  !  " — with  scorn. 

"  Savigny's  ?     Shall  you  break  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  The  boy  shrugged.  "  I  have  wasted 
so  much  time.  Do  you  know,  a  month  ago,  still  I 
couldn't  play.  I  wouldn't  listen  either.  I  thought  it 
was  dead." 

"  Were  you  unhappy  ?  " 


PHILIP  351 

"  Unhappy  ?  I  don't  know.  I  was  dead.  I  hated 
Savigny  because  he  had  made  me  dead  for  it." 

"  That  was  unreasonable,  rather." 

' '  I  thought  he  was  doing  it  on  purpose.  He  can, 
you  know." 

"  Can  what  ?  " 

"  Change  you.  Make  you  hate  what  you  like  : 
anything.  He  can  make  you  do  anything." 

"  I  see.  So  he  made  you  waste  your  time,  you 
think.  Why  ?  In  order  to  get  well  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know."    Antoine  looked  cross. 

"  I  daresay  he  thinks  you  are  apt  to  be  in  a  hurry. 
Doctors,  you  see,  know  the  value  of  time." 

"  But  wasted  time." 

"  Yes,  of  wasted  time  above  all." 

"  You  are  like  my  grandfather  sometimes,"  said 
Antoine,  after  a  pause.  He  came  nearer.  "  I  will  try." 

"  Try  to  be  good  ?  "  Alexander  smiled.  "  Why, 
yes  ;  you  must  try,  because  you  are  a  man  again. 
You  are  trusted,  Tony." 

"  How  trusted  ?  " 

"  With  yourself.  By  yourself,  you  would  have 
died,  or  worse."  The  boy's  eyes  darkened,  and  the 
man  hurried  on.  "  All  that  learning  and  that  love 
that  set  you  on  your  feet  again  must  be  repaid.  You 
must  bear  yourself — manfully.  You  are  trusted." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Simply  by  the  fact  that  you  are  sent  back  here." 

The  boy  bit  his  lip.  "  I  didn't  want  to  come.  I 
was  frightened." 

Alexander  bowed  his  head.  This  at  any  rate  was 
foreseen. 

"  Are  you  frightened  now  you  have  come  ?  " 

"  No.  N-not  very  much.  If  I  had  come  alone, 
perhaps." 

"  Ah.     Your  brother  thought  of  that." 

"He  waited  at  Gracebridge.    I — I   thought  he 


352  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

would  have  gone  on.  There  were  three  trains  :  but 
he  waited." 

"  Did  it  surprise  you  ?  " 

"  I  had  not  thought  of  it."  Antoine  paused  re- 
flecting. "  But  of  course  he  was  very  good  before 
too.  I  mean  in  the  holidays  before  I  went  to 
Paris." 

"  He  only  went  on  being  the  same  after  the 
interval."  Alexander  grew  amused,  as  usual  with 
Tony.  He  had  never  gathered  his  thoughts  on  his 
brother  before. 

"  Yes,  that's  all.     But  I  had  forgotten." 

"  Forgotten  Philip  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  curious.  I  had  not  thought  of  him 
at  all.  That  is  to  say,  I  just  thought  at  Euston,  he 
will  be  with  Glenmuir,  he  will  go  on  with  him.  But 
till  I  saw  him,  I  did  not  really  remember." 

Antoine  presented  these  curious  facts  for  the 
headmaster's  judgment. 

"  You  were  glad  to  see  him  and  remember,  weren't 
you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  was  glad  to  see  him.  The  people 
in  the  train  were  very  ugly." 

Alexander  laughed  out :  and  after  a  second,  Tony 
smiled  too. 

"  You  think  that  funny,  that  I  mind  about  beauti- 
ful things,"  he  observed. 

"Not  at  all,  really.  Nor  that  you  count  your 
brother  among  them.  It  is  exactly  like  you,  Tony  ; 
and  if  I  had  not  forgotten  you,  I  should  not  laugh. 
I  beg  your  pardon.  We  have  had  no  one  here  at  all 
like  you  since  you  left." 

"  Haven't  you  ?  "  Tony  smiled  his  brilliant  smile, 
and  then  instantly  sighed.  "  Shall  I  be  a  bother  for 
you  ?  Grandpapa  thought  I  would  be." 

"  Not  more  than  you  used,"  said  Mr.  Alexander, 
with  small  regard  to  truth. 


PHILIP  353 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  not  be  so  bad,"  said  Antoine 
thoughtfully.  "  Very  likely  I  shall  not  be." 

"  Suppose,"  said  Mr.  Alexander,  "  you  worked." 
Then,  as  Antoine  looked  politely  interested,  "  Les- 
sons, I  mean — schoolwork.  Mr.  Johnstone  says 
your  mathematics  are  very  good  when  you  like." 

'  Yes,  it  is  interesting,"  Antoine  assented  agreeably. 

"  Well,  why  not  push  forward  a  bit,  and  have 
something  to  show  by  the  time  your  father  comes 
home  ?  " 

Antoine  took  in  the  idea  and  weighed  it ;  though 
it  was  clear  he  had  to  throw  off  a  big  weight  of  in- 
difference to  do  so. 

"  Will  you  think  it  over  ?  "  Mr.  Alexander  felt  an 
absurd  shyness  of  pressing  him.  He  could  not  but 
himself  feel  the  banality  of  lessons  in  the  boy's  pre- 
sence. He  was  aware  he  had  made  a  slight  impres- 
sion, and  dreaded  to  say  a  word  too  much,  and  spoil 
it.  So  he  simply  held  out  his  hand,  to  soften  with 
a  warm  pressure  his  final  dose  of  truth. 

"  I  have  often  thought,  for  a  clever  youngster,  you 
are  remarkably  stupid  in  class.  I  expect  it  is  simply 
because  you  think  of  other  things." 

"  I  expect  so,"  said  Antoine.     "  I  am  sorry." 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  manners,"  Alexander 
hastened  to  point  out,  "  but  a  more  serious  thing. 
Of  course  lack  of  attention  is  lack  of  manners,  but — " 
He  paused,  seeking  an  idea.  "  Well,  suppose  you 
thought  of  algebra  all  the  time  you  were  practising." 
Antoine  laughed  slightly.  "  What  I  mean  is,  neither 
thing  really  gets  done.  And  what  we  live  for  is  to 
get  things  done." 

*'  Grandpapa,"  Antoine  remarked,  "  has  said  that 
it  is  no  good  practising  to  get  it  done." 

"  Confound  it,"  Alexander  thought.  "  He's  caught 
me."  He  sat  however  looking  magisterially  solemn, 
a  thing  he  could  do  excellently.  Antoine  thought 


354  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

him  a  very  interesting  person,  and  his  earnest  gaze 
said  as  much. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said  and  sighed.    "  Good-night." 

Surely  the  headmaster's  hand-clasp  might  be  taken 
as  a  dismissal,  even  if  he  continued  to  hold  the  hand. 

"  Among  your  advantages,  Antoine,"  said  that 
•surprising  person  suddenly,  "  is  the  artist's  point  of 
view.  You  remind  me  of  that  yourself.  Look  here  : 
I  recommend  algebra  to  your  attention.  It  is  an — 
ah — beautiful  thing." 

He  gave  Antoine's  word  its  proper  accent :  but 
the  owner  never  noticed.  "  Sometimes  it  is,"  he 
agreed.  "  I  remember  it  is  sometimes.  I  shall 
think  about  it  to-night." 

"  Don't,"  Alexander  ejaculated.  "  Go  to  sleep  to- 
night. You  can  think  about  it  to-morrow  instead  " — 
and  he  just  saved  himself  from  adding — "  during 
my  Scripture  class." 

He  did  add  it,  with  hopeless  laughter,  when  An- 
toine had  left  the  room.  But  he  went  to  bed  him- 
self feeling  younger  than  he  had  done  for  some  six 
months  past. 


V.  JAMES 


I 

JEM  fooled  deliberately  with  Tony  on  the  verandah, 
till  Philip  was  surprised  at  him. 

Philip  wanted  to  have  some  serious  conversation 
after  dinner,  and  had  laid  himself  full  length  in  a 
chair  for  that  purpose.  Also  it  was  verging  danger- 
ously on  the  hour  of  Antoine's  lesson  in  the  study, 
to  which  he  had  been  virtuously  proceeding  when 
his  father  captured  him.  The  crackle  of  M.  Lucien's 
newspaper  through  the  open  window  showed  that  he 
was  there  and  waiting  :  yet  Jem  pursued  his  trifling 
quite  regardless. 

Antoine  himself  was  desirous  to  extract  the  mean- 
ing of  certain  words  which  had  interested  him  in  his 
father's  vocabulary.  But  he  made  his  investigations 
under  difficulties,  for  he  could  get  no  serious  assist- 
ance at  all. 

"  You  are  silly,  papa,"  he  said  at  last,  dropping 
back  exhausted,  the  tears  of  unwilling  laughter  on 
his  eyelashes. 

"  Oh  well,"  Jem  drawled.  "  I  can't  be  as  cultured 
as  some  people." 

"I'm  not,"  said  Tony  rousing.  "What  is  cultured  ? " 

Jem  considered.  "  Ever  seen  a  French  poodle," 
he  asked,  "  combed  out  and  frizzled  up,  and  a  bow 
tied  at  the  side  ?  That's  the  idea." 

"  But  half  the  poodle  is  all  bare,"  Tony  objected. 

"  Well,"  said  Jem  with  emphasis.  "  More  than 
half  of  you  is  bare  blank  ignorance,  my  kid.  Only 
you're  frizzled  up  in  front." 

357 


358  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  I'm  not  frizzled  !  "  cried  Tony,  outraged. 

"  Got  him  !  "  said  Jem  serenely.  They  looked  at 
one  another. 

"  You  are  old,  papa,"  Antoine  observed.  "  Nearly 
quite  as  old  as  grandpapa  when  one  comes  very  close." 

"  I  can  give  him  fifteen  years,"  said  Jem  hastily, 
"  if  you  want  to  know." 

"  Got  him  !  "  returned  Tony,  with  insolence. 

They  ragged  a  little.  M.  Lemaure  in  the  library 
cleared  his  throat,  and  Antoine  started. 

"  Oh,  I  must  go,"  he  said. 

"  What  happens  after  this  lesson  ?  "  said  Jem. 

"  I  go  to  bed." 

'Then  this  is  good-night,  hey  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Oh,  papa  !  "  Tony  caught  him  by  the 
neck  and  made  a  private  request. 

"  Can't  be  bothered,"  said  Jem.     "  Well,  we'll  see." 

"  See  ?  "  Tony  pondered  the  remembered  formula. 
"  Then  I  do  not  say  good-night  ?  " 

"  You'd  better." 

"  But  if  I  do,  you  don't  come  !  " 

"  If  you  don't,"  said  Jem,  "  I  may  go  on  seeing  all 
night.  I  want  to  talk  to  Phil.  Besides,  folks  as  old 
as  me  don't  care  to  be  hustled." 

Tony  gazed  anxiously  at  him  :  he  certainly  was  a 
first-class  subject  for  teasing. 

"  You  are  very  tired,  papa  ?  " 

"  Well — I've  travelled  three  thousand  miles  quite 
lately." 

"  Would — to-morrow  be  better  ?  " 

"  Hum."  Jem's  calculating  eye  was  considering 
how  much  he  could  stand.  "  Whatever  the  business 
is,  it  can  wait,  I  suppose.  It's  had  to  wait  a  month 
longer  as  it  is,  eh  ?  "  Tony  nodded.  "  Then  what's 
another  day  ?  " 

The  boy  had  no  answer,  and  looked  aside. 

"  Warm  evening,  ain't  it,  Phil?  "  said  Jem. 


JAMES  359 

"  Getting  warmer,  my  way,"  said  Philip.  His 
uncle's  paper  had  rattled  again.  "  Shouldn't  wonder 
if  we  had  a  little  thunder  locally." 

Tony  drew  a  long  breath,  almost  a  sigh,  and  pick- 
ing up  his  open  exercise-book  from  the  table,  cast 
his  eyes  over  it. 

Jem  reached  a  long  arm,  and  twitched  it  out  of 
his  hands. 

"Oh,  look  here,"  he  said,  studying  it.  "This'll 
never  do." 

14  What  ?  "  said  Antoine. 

"  Here."  Jem  tapped  a  point  on  the  page  with 
gravity.  "  That's  what  I  call  real  lazy  work.  You 
haven't  given  your  mind  to  it,  my  boy." 

Tony  stared,  his  brow  wrinkling  up.  Some  of  the 
lines  were  quite  deeply  marked,  his  father  noticed. 

"  It's— all  right,  I  think,"  he  said  doubtfully. 

Jem  shook  his  head.  "  Ah  well,  I  leave  it  to  your 
uncle.  I  think  you'll  find  he  agrees  with  me.  By 
Jove  !  "  He  seemed  really  pained  by  his  discovery. 

Tony  looked  up  at  him.  "  I  didn't  know  you — 
tell  me  what  it  is,  papa." 

"  I  couldn't  begin  to  tell  you,  my  dear.  Besides, 
there's  no  time  to  alter  it  now.  You're  late  as  it  is." 
Jem  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?  " 

"  Eight  thirty-five." 

"  Oh  !  "  Tony  bit  his  lip,  caught  the  paper  and 
disappeared. 

"  Shame,  papa,"  Philip  murmured.  "  He's  scared 
to  death  of  my  uncle." 

"  Well,"  said  James,  stretching  himself  with  the 
lazy  grin  of  a  schoolboy,  "I've  made  him  jolly  late, 
anyway.  Shut  up  and  listen." 

There  was  a  thrilling  silence  in  the  library  as  the 
door  opened. 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  voice  of  M.  Lemaure, 


360  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  that  you  have  a  prize  from  your  school  for  mathe- 
matics." 

A  sound  of  faint  assent. 

'  Your  bedtime  is,  I  think " 

'  Nine,"  said  Antoine. 

'  And  this  lesson  we  reckon " 

'  F-forty  minutes." 

'  The  ^mathematical  person,"  said  M.  Lemaure, 
folding  his  newspaper  up  audibly,  "  would  therefore 
conclude  that  it  commenced  at " 

"  Eight  thirty-five,"  said  Antoine. 

Philip  gripped  his  father's  arm. 

"  I  should  ask  you,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  chucking 
his  paper  aside,  "  now,  to  drop  frivolity." 

"  But,"  explained  Antoine,  "  I  thought  you  meant 
I  was  the  unmathematical  person,  and  here  is  when 
I  have  come." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  M.  Lemaure.  "How 
much  of  the  lesson,  I  ask,  is  already  gone,  thanks  to 
your  taste  for  chattering  ?  " 

"  F-fifteen-fortieths,"  said  Antoine.  "  That  is  a 
quart  er-and-a-half ." 

"  Hey  ?  "  snapped  M.  Lucien. 

"  Wonderfully  correct,"  murmured  Jem,  with  his 
eyes  shut,  "  for  an  unmathematical  person." 

"  He's  a  treat,  ain't  he  ?  "  said  Philip  absently. 
"  Dad,  we  can't  talk  here  with  them  jawing.  Come 
along  to  my  room.  You  haven't  seen  it." 

"  Give  us  a  minute  more,"  said  Jem.  "Hope  he 
gets  his  ears  boxed." 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Tony,  his  voice  unsteady,  "  it 
is  very  bad." 

M.  Lucien  slapped  the  book  audibly  on  the 
table. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  bringing  in  work,  then,  if  you 
can't  give  your  attention  to  it  for  twenty  minutes  in 
the  day  ?  " 


JAMES  361 

"I  did  try,"  said  Antoine.  "That—that  was 
before  papa  had  arrived." 

"  Sit  there,"  said  M.  Lucien  grimly.  "  You  know 
what  you  have  to  do." 

During  the  ensuing  studious  silence,  Jem  and  his 
son  rose  and  passed  round  the  house. 

"  He's  no  right  to  brainwork  as  late  as  this,"  the 
engineer  remarked.  "  Guess  I'll  put  a  stop  to  it." 

Philip's  eyebrows  ran  up.  His  penetration  had 
discovered  a  strain  somewhere,  even  on  the  first  day 
of  general  good-humour ;  or  rather,  the  oppor- 
tunity of  strain.  It  was  as  though  the  two  had  each  a 
hand  on  Antoine,  but  had  as  yet  forborne  to  pull. 
Philip  looked  forward  vaguely  to  some  fun  in  the 
next  few  days. 

"  Do  you  reckon  he  looks  well  ?  "  said  Jem. 

"  Tony  ?  Oh  yes,  for  him.  He's  a  bit  excited 
to-day — no  wonder."  He  ran  his  arm  through  his 
father's.  "  Did  you  say  you  had  a  plan  for  to- 
morrow, sir  ?  Uncle  Ted's,  was  it  ? ': 

"  I  sort  of  said  I'd  take  you  both  over  to  Wain- 
field." 

"I  say,"  said  Philip.  "That  won't  do.  He's 
playing  at  the  club  in  the  town  to-morrow.  Didn't 
my  uncle  mention  there  was  a  concert  ?  " 

"  Yes.     But  they  don't  require  him." 

Philip  laughed  slyly.  "  Don't  they.  There's  been 
no  end  of  a  fuss.  Somebody  failed,  and  now  my 
uncle  has  stuck  him  in  to  fill  up.  He'll  have  to  go." 

"  What — rot,"  said  Jem  with  gentle  expression. 
"  Then  I'll  have  to  put  up  with  you,  eh  ?  Unless  I 
make  a  haul  for  him."  He  considered  the  question, 
smoking. 

"  I  shouldn't  advise  you  to,  really,"  said  Philip. 

"Now  did  I  ask  you  to  advise  me ?  "  said  Jem. 
He  snubbed  Philip  at  intervals  with  great  delibera- 
tion. Philip  was  half  offended,  half  thrilled  by  the 


362  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

feeling  of  old  days  it  gave  him.  Did  his  father  actually 
not  realise  how  enormously  he  had  changed  for  the 
better  since  he  was  a  kid  ? 

In  silent  dignity  he  led  the  way  to  his  room  ; 
James  nosed  about  it  with  great  interest. 

"Jolly  lot  of  books,"  he  murmured,  stopping  before 
the  shelf  now  overburdened  by  a  splendid  array  of 
prizes.  He  took  out  one  or  two,  simply  to  see  what 
the  gorgeous  binding  contained  within.  "  Haven't 
read  a  book  for  years,  barring  shop.  Is  it  the  form 
to  read  nowadays  ?  " 

"  At  school,  do  you  mean  ?  Alexander's  made  it 
the  form." 

"  Trench  made  us  read,"  said  Edgell.  "  Only  I 
wasted  a  lot  of  time.  How  is  the  old  place,  Phil  ?  " 
He  stood  in  front  of  the  Radfield  photographs  which 
decorated  Philip's  mantelpiece. 

"  Striking  out  now,  sir.  They  say  it  hasn't  been 
in  such  good  condition  for  years.  Hope  it  won't 
drop." 

"  When  you  leave,  eh  ?  "  His  father  glanced  round. 

'Don't  apologise.     I  remember  just  that  feeling. 

And  where's  the  harm,  if  one's  worked  for  a  place  ?  " 

He  swung  about  and  faced  the  boy. 

"  You've  worked  more  than  a  little,  haven't  you  ? 
Tried  to  lug  it  up  ?  " 

"  I've  tried  not  to  lug  it  down,"  said  Philip  colour- 
ing. Edgell  nodded. 

"  Yes  :  you  and  I  like  having  our  fingers  in  the  pie, 
specially  if  the  pie's  a  good  'un.  Does  the  young 
one  like  it  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Philip,  after  a  marked  pause. 
"  It  likes  him." 

"  Notices  him,  eh  ?  " 

"  I've  had  to  keep  an  eye  on  some  of  the  fellows. 
He's  amusing,  you  know,  and  he's  not  like  the  ruck 
of  fags." 


JAMES 

"  Not  much,"  said  Jem  with  a  laugh, 
trot  him  out  and  play  with  him." 

"  That  sort  of  thing." 

"  And  you  have  to  interfere  ?  " 

"  I  don't  approve  of  the  principle,"  said  Philip, 
frowning.  "  I've  seen  lots  of  kids  spoilt  by  it.  It's 
more  for  that  than  for  any  harm  it  does  him." 

"  I  see.  But  for  all  that,  you're  not  sure  if  he's 
happy." 

"  He  was  happy  enough.  I  expect  he'll  shake 
down  again.  It  was  that  long  break,  you  see.  He's 
been  queer,  this  last  term." 

"  Ah." 

"  I'm  awfully  glad  you've  come,  sir.  I  meant  to 
jaw  him  before  he  goes  back,  but  somehow  I  can't. 
I  could  talk  to  any  other  kid  better.  Besides  it's  the 
point  of  view  ;  and  if  a  year  and  a  half  at  Radfield 
can't  knock  that  into  him,  I  don't  know  what  can. 
If  he  looked  at  things  the  least  like  other  people,  I 
should  know  where  to  start.  But — and  he's  been 
getting  worse." 

The  boy's  brow  clouded,  and  he  bent  his  head. 
His  father  surveyed  him  with  keen  interest.  He  had 
caught  the  other  side  of  Philip,  and  it  relieved  him  ; 
he  might  have  remembered  there  was  another  side 
for  boys  of  his  stamp. 

"  You've  been  bothered — vexed  in  mind  ?  " 

"  That's  more  like  it,"  said  Philip.  "  I  wouldn't 
fag,  only  there  seems  no  one  else  to  do  it.  I  told 
you  about  the  other  fellows.  Well,  the  masters, 
Alexander  himself — it's  all  the  same.  If  you  heard 
the  way  he  talks  to  them,  as  if  they  were  friends  he 
had  picked  up  by  chance.  And  they  just  laugh,  and 
let  him.  As  for  the  rules — he  doesn't  care  a  hang,  I 
do  believe.  He's  got  out  of  bad  scrapes  a  thousand 
times  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth — or  because  some 
one  didn't  do  their  duty — and  I  don't  believe  he  even 


364  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

knows  it !  It's — distracting.  It  isn't  as  if  he  was  a 
fool,  either.  He's  worked  in  this  one  term  to  the 
top  of  his  form.  Alexander  says  he  likes  to  talk  to 
him.  It's — the  point  of  view." 

"  Hum,"  said  the  father.  "  Sounds  as  if  he  wants 
a  licking." 

"  If  that  was  all — "  began  Philip  :  and  then  looked 
round,  caught  his  father's  eye,  and  laughed. 

"  You're  as  bad  as  any  one,  Phil.  You  don't  take 
him  seriously." 

"  I  do,  sir.  I  may  laugh  sometimes,  but  I'm 
precious  serious." 

"  I  know  you  are."  Edgell  put  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  "  I'll  give  him  a  talking  to  to-night.  Will 
that  do  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  would.    He'd  mind  you  more  than  me." 

"  I've  been  suspecting  from  his  letters  that  he's 
not  properly  aware  of  the  honour  of  being  a  Radfield 
boy." 

"  That's  it,"  said  Philip. 

"  And  there's  another  argument  you  can't  use. 
He's  been  undoing  your  work  :  making  you  feel  a 
fool — a  bit  of  a  humbug.  Isn't  that  it  ?  " 

"  Something  like  it,"  said  Philip  under  his  breath. 
What  a  glorious  thing  a  father  was,  to  be  sure. 

"  That'll  get  him,"  said  Jem,  "  for  he's  fond  of  you. 
Then,  at  Philip's  look—"  Oh,  isn't  he.  You  should 
see  his  letters.  There's  never  much  doubt  about 
Tony's  enthusiasms.  You've  helped  him  at  every 
turn,  and  I  know  how  brutally  difficult  that  is  to  do 
at  school.  If  he's  not  grateful,  he  ought  to  be.  I'll 
screw  it  in." 

When  M.  Lemaure  came  into  the  garden  soon  after 
nine,  James  was  admiring  the  new  wing. 

"  Lord,  what  a  room,"  he  said.  "  Fairless  built 
that  for  you,  I  bet." 


JAMES  365 

"  He  did — and  Storm  built  the  organ." 

"  Humph,"  said  Jem.  "  Looks  as  if  your  trade 
pays.  If  you'd  stuck  to  the  public  life,  now,  would 
it  have  paid  so  well  ?  I  guess  not." 

"  One  can  only  guess,"  said  M.  Lemaure  drily. 

"  No,"  said  Jem.  "  There's  no  money  to  be  made 
there,  nowadays." 

"  There's  a  name,"  said  Monsieur.  "  Here  and 
there." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Jem.  "  But  your  name's  made, 
eh  ?  Others  have  seen  to  that."  He  laughed  with 
such  frank  slyness  that  M.  Lucien  could  hardly 
forbear  to  respond.  To  his  immense  surprise  he 
caught  a  likeness  to  Antoine  in  that  passing  manner. 
Such  oddly  innocuous  sincerity  had  not  been  a 
characteristic  of  his  sister,  at  least. 

He  did  not  really  object  to  James,  he  told  himself 
he  could  not  help  being  big,  and  a  trifle  superfluous. 
If  he  would  have  the  sense  to  hold  off,  and  take  up 
his  just  position  in  the  landscape,  he  need  not  spoil 
the  scene.  M.  Lucien  intended  to  give  him  his  dues, 
naturally,  and  regard  all  formalities.  He  even 
made  a  kind  of  apology  for  using  Antoine  the  next 
day,  as  they  strolled  back  to  the  house  together. 

"  What  nature  of  thing  is  your  club,  anyway  ?  " 
said  Jem. 

M.  Lucien  dilated  on  it  gladly,  for  it  was  his  secret 
pride.  He  took,  as  secretary,  enormous  pains  about 
it,  and  though  he  grumbled  without  cessation  at  his 
colleagues,  he  really  quite  enjoyed  the  expenditure 
of  energy  necessary  to  keep  such  an  organisation 
alive  in  a  town  like  Roxminster,  where  the  musical 
element,  though  on  a  high  level  of  taste,  was  of 
the  most  easy-going  and  unenterprising  description 
possible. 

Jem  lent  an  unappreciative  ear. 

"  Do  you  smoke  ?  "  he  asked. 


366  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Of  course,"  said  his  host. 

"  No  feminine,  then."  He  glanced  at  Madame, 
for  they  had  reached  the  drawing-room. 

"  I  never  go  near  them,"  she  said.  "It  is  quite 
enough  to  hear  them  rehearsing  eternally.  Also  that 
club-room  in  the  town  is  a  nasty  little  hole,  that  only 
men  could  tolerate.  The  arrangements  made  by 
men  for  themselves,"  said  Madame  thoughtfully,  "  are 
always  so  very  comical.  There  is  something  pathetic 
in  the  pride  they  take  in  their  little  discomforts." 

Her  husband  was  drawn,  as  usual ;  and  James, 
after  attending  amused  for  some  moments,  rose  to 
his  feet. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  bed  ?  "  said  his  brother-in- 
law,  turning  with  surprise. 

"  Well,"  said  Jem,  stretching  his  arms.  "  I've 
travelled  half  the  world  lately,  and  I'm  getting  on  in 
years." 

"  Then,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  rising  too,  "  business 
must  wait." 

"  Eh  ?  "  Jem  turned.  "  No,  if  there's  any 
business,  we'll  get  through  with  it  to-night.  I'll 
come  down  again." 

"  You're  going  up  ?  " 

"The  kid — Antoine — says  he  wants  to  show  me 
something.  I  shall  see  him  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  Ah.    Well,  I  shall  be  in  the  study." 

James  went  up,  primed  with  a  lecture. 

Tony  was  sitting,  not  in  his  bed  where  he  should 
have  been,  but  curled  up  at  the  open  window.  His 
father  wondered  if  he  was  awake,  he  sat  so  still.  In 
the  fault  daylight  there  was  no  more  than  an  outline 
to  be  seen. 

"  This  isn't  the  place  to  go  to  sleep,  idiot,"  he  said. 

"  I  shall  not  go  to  sleep  yet,"  said  Tony,  gently, 
picking  up  his  head  from  the  window-sill,  where  it 


JAMES  367 

had  been  reposing.  "  There  is  a  lot  to  do  first.  Papa, 
is  this  you  ?  "  He  spoke  breathlessly,  as  his  father 
came  close  to  him  in  the  twilight. 

"  You'd  better  make  sure.  Don't  go  talking 
secrets  to  the  wrong  person." 

"  I  will  make  sure."  He  sprang  swiftly  on  the 
window-seat,  threw  up  an  arm  round  his  neck,  and 
embraced  him  foreign-wise  with  the  quick  passion 
that  brought  the  past  crowding  back  to  his  father's 
memory.  This  was  his  baby,  and  no  mistake.  He 
clutched  the  boy's  slight  form  in  his  arms,  and  drew 
him  down  into  the  window-seat. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you're  still  working  ?  " 
he  said,  his  jealousy  flying  back  with  the  sense  of 
possession. 

"  Working  ?     Oh,  no." 

"  You  said  you  had  lots  to  do  before  you  went  to 
bed." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that.    I  have  done  my  work." 

"  What's  that  paper,  then  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  had  wanted  to  show  you  :  but  I 
think  there  is  not  enough  light.  Yes,  now  there  is 
some  of  the  moon  also.  It  is  so  very  small." 

Edgell  bent  his  head  over  the  boy's  shoulder  to 
observe  what  he  held.  It  was  the  exercise  with 
which  he  had  jested,  as  he  could  recognise  even  in 
the  faint  light ;  the  manuscript  was  defaced  now  by 
scores  and  marks  here  and  there  from  a  critical  pen, 
but  it  was  not  at  these  Antoine  was  gazing.  Bringing 
it  close  to  his  father's  eyes,  he  displayed  a  minute 
remark  at  the  end,  as  follows  :  "  Bien.  Achevez." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  James. 

"  All  ?  I  did  not  believe  when  he  said  it,  until  I 
saw." 

"Did  he  never  tell  you  you'd  done  a  thing  well 
before  ?  " 

"  Never  like  that :  one  '  bien  '  all  alone.     I  finish, 


368  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

and  he  sends  it  to  grandpapa.  He  tells  me  that. 
And  when  I  had  been  so  very  late,  to  make  him 
angry  !  But  he  is  like  that,  yes  !  "  He  spoke  with 
a  strong  thrill  to  the  absent  master. 

James  Edgell  bit  his  lip  in  silence.  He  could  not 
quite  catch  a  special  thought  among  many  that 
besieged  him.  It  may  have  been  that  here  was  a 
standard  of  education  more  strenuous  than  the  school 
ideal  he  had  come  to  uphold.  It  was  a  little  hard 
on  so  young  a  boy  to  have  both  crowded  on  him  at 
once.  However,  he  repeated  to  himself  the  claims 
of  the  other  side,  the  sturdy  faith  inherited  from 
English  fathers.  So  after  some  lazy  talk  he  presently 
began. 

"  Antoine.     I  told  Phil  I  was  going  to  jaw  you." 
Tony  had  been  frowning  at  the  moon.     "  Yes  ?  " 
he  said  politely.     "  What  about  ?  " 
"  The  way  you  behave  at  school." 
"  Oh— but  I  got  a  prize." 

"  Prizes  are  not  everything,"  said  Edgell  solemnly. 
"  I  send  you  to  school  to  educate  you.    And  that 
means,"  he  went  on  after  a  minute,  "to  teach  you 
how  to  live." 
"How  to  live?" 

"  Yes.  Now  see  here  :  you  can't  go  on  like  last 
term." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Antoine  with  conviction. 
Edgell's  lip  curled  slightly.     "I'm  glad  we  can 
agree.     You  must  live  your  life  like  a  man,  my  son ; 
not  with  half  a  heart.     You  will  never  be  a  man 
worth  a  cent  if  you  do  that." 

"  No,"  breathed  the  boy.  His  hands  were  gripped 
close  together  as  if  he  were  holding  something  back. 
His  father  had  hardly  thought  to  be  allowed  to  go 
on  so  long  without  interruption  by  such  an  impulsive 
culprit  as  this.  He  felt  like  a  model  parent  as  he 
proceeded. 


JAMES  369 

'  You  weren't  happy  this  last  term  ?  " 

"  No."    His  head  sank  lower. 

;'Why?" 

"  Because — I  was  doing  the  wrong  thing  ?  " 
There  was  a  slight  interrogation  perceptible. 

"  It's  a  likely  explanation,"  said  Edgell.  "  Can 
you  get  any  further  ?  " 

'Yes.  Much  further."  A  long  breath.  "I 
have  thought,  do  you  see,  a  great  deal  about  it." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Let's  hear  the  results  of  your  think- 
ing." He  smiled  in  the  dark.  Tony  always  took 
him  by  surprise  somewhere.  There  was  a  pause. 

"  When  you've  thought  a  lot,  it's  hard  to  begin, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Begin  anywhere.     We'll  sift  out  what  matters." 

"  Perhaps  really  it  began  when  I  was  ill  last  year." 

'  Very  likely,"  said  Jem  nodding.  "  Bad  health 
has  a  way  of  making  a  fellow  morally  lazy.  I  know 
that." 

"  Lazy  ?  Oh,  because  I  did  not  practise  then  ? 
But  grandpapa  and  the  doctor  would  not  let  mo 
practise,  or  read,  or  anything." 

"  I  know  that  my  boy." 

"  But  lazy — I  was  not  that.  If  you  knew  how  that 
was,  to  be  ill,  papa.  I  thought  that  I  would  die.  At 
one  time,  with  Savigny,  I  wanted  to  very  much." 

"Don't,  child." 

"  It  is  only  to  show  why  I  couldn't  be  lazy.  I  was 
all  awake,  all  afraid,  down  here  in  my  heart.  Not 
always  I  could  think,  because  of  Savigny.  But 
sometimes  he  forgot,  and  let  me  :  and  th-then  it  had 
to  be  thought  so  very  quick." 

'  What  did  you  think  about  ?  "  said  Jem  gruffly. 
He  longed  to  stop  his  recalling  it. 

"  Of  you — of  Philippe — of  the  school — of  the 
music.  Mostly  of  that." 

"  Well,  get  on."     He  began  to  have  a  foreboding. 

2A 


370  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"If  you  had  been  there  in  Paris  at  Easter,  I  should 
have  told  you  then.  It  would  have  been  all  the  same 
then  as  now.  But  you  were  not  there,  and — and — it 
is  the  thing  I  could  not  write."  His  voice  choked  : 
Edgell  could  not  ha  ve"1  believed  that  a  human  body 
could  so  vibrate  jwith£the  emotion  of  what  he  said. 

"  I  couldn't  come,  my  dear,"  he  said  sadly.  "  Tell 
me  now,  if  you  can." 

"  Yes,  you  must  wait.    If  you  wait,  I  will  tell  you." 

"  I  am  not  going,"  said  Jem,  unlocking  his  fever- 
ish clutch.  "  Take  the  time  you  want." 

"  So  when  I  was  well,  I  went  back  to  school.  I 
did  like  that  school,  papa.  I  found  it  nice  and 
curious.  But  this  last  term — how  different." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"  How  different Jto  me.  It  "was  all  the  same  as 
before,  except  they  were  more  decent.  But  I  had 
thought  to  know  it  was  wrong  ;  and  so  it  hurt  me  in- 
side, every  day,  every  night — most  of  all  the  nights." 

"  What  hurt  you,  my  dear  ?     I  don't  understand." 

"  The  wrong-ness.  I  lived  there  :  it  was  not  real. 
I  th-think  it  never  had  been.  My  real  was  here  :  I 
might  not  let  it  go  out.  I  felt  it  there,  I  feel  it." 

"  What  ?  "  He  had  clasped  his  hands  high  across 
his  chest. 

"  The  thing  that  I  have  got  to  do.  All  the  things 
— when  there  is  not  much  time." 

There  was  complete  silence.  He  had  made  himself 
clear  at  last. 

'  You  are  angry,  papa  ?  "  he  asked  tremulously. 

"  Lord  knows.  I  suppose  not."  Then  he  broke 
out.  "  You  have  all  your  life,  boy.  You  are  not 
fifteen." 

"  Isn't  that  old  ?  " 

"  No — young.  Ridiculously — scandalously  young. 
Can't  you  play  at  being  a  kid  a  bit  longer,  if  it's  only 
to  please  me  ?  ' ' 


JAMES  371 

"  Would  you  like  that  ?  I  will  try,  if  you  like  it." 
His  voice  dragged  with  pure  exhaustion.  More  than 
anything  he  had  yet  said,  that  sad  submission  drove 
the  truth  home  to  his  father.  Edgell  had  been  taken 
unaware  ;  he  was  vexed  more  than  a  little,  disap- 
pointed profoundly,  all  but  shocked  indeed.  But  he 
admitted  a  truth  presented,  however  ungrateful. 

'  Try  again  :  pull  through  another  term  with  that 
trouble  '  especially  at  night,'  and  wear  yourself  out 
as  I  have  found  you  worn."  He  said  it  to  himself, 
not  to  Antoine.  Suppose  he  tried  keeping  him  at 
home  a  bit,  till  he  got  through  with  these  nervous 
fancies.  It  was  probably  nothing  more  than  a  phase, 
consequent  upon  that  singular  breakdown  last  year. 
He  could  get  him  away  from  his  uncle,  to  whose 
door  he  privately  laid  the  blame  of  this  state  of 
things.  He  could  look  after  "  the  kid  "  in  person  for 
six  months,  that  was  the  best  of  it.  Six  months'  re- 
laxation he  had  earned,  and  though  he  had  no  notion 
of  settling  in  England,  it  would  not  be  half  bad  to 
linger  a  bit,  and  keep  his  eye  on  the  boy.  One 
phrase  of  his  had  struck  him  as  morbid.  He  had 
barely  noted  it  inlpassing,  but  it  came  back  to  his  mind. 

He  thought  it  out  slowly.  Tony's  heart  sank  at 
his  silence. 

"  I  must  go  ?  "  he  said,  turning  his  head.  The 
moon,  now  fully  up  in  all  the  summer  glory,  shone  in 
upon  his  face,  making  it  yet  whiter  than  by  day. 
His  eyes  were  dark  and  deep  unspeakably  by  con- 
trast, catching  no  glitter  under  their  thick  fringes. 
"  S-say  it,  papa,"  he  begged.  "  Don't  not  say  any- 
thing." He  clutched  his  English  father. 

"  Here — give  us  a  minute,"  said  Jem,  who  was  not 
ready. 

"  I  shall  go  back  :  that  is  what  you  mean  .  .  .  see 
then,  I  will  burn  that."  He  put  out  his  hand  upon  a 
pile  of  paper  glimmering  faintly  white,  that  lay  within 


372  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

reach  on  the  table.  "  With  that  too,  I  can  not  bear 
it  any  more.  Burn,  and  it  will  be  finished." 

Edgell,  after  a  minute,  swept  his  hand  off,  and 
took  up  the  pile.  "  Manuscript,  eh  ?  "  he  said, 
examining  them  in  the  white  light.  "  More  exer- 
cises, Tony  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exercises.  Those  he  burns  himself. 
These  he  would  burn  too,  if  he  knew,  but  he  does 
not  know." 

A  sort  of  anguish  of  pride  was  in  the  tone  :  his 
eyes  were  rivetted  on  the  sheets  his  father  held. 

"  Eh  ?  Writing  out  of  school,  you  rascal  ?  I 
remember,  Phil  said  you  had  written  songs." 

"  These  are  not  songs,"  with  contempt.  "  Those 
were  little  things.  These  are  big,  and  I  have  not 
finished  them.  There  was  so  little  time." 

"  You  wrote  all  this  at  school  ?  "  said  Edgell,  with 
sharp  and  sudden  suspicion. 

"No,  no" — the  boy  shrank.  "Except  a  little. 
Really,  I  wrote  very  little." 

"  But  you  had  them  there  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  when  they  were  there,  sometimes  I 
must  think  of  them.  Sometimes  it  made  me  feel — 
like  that  again."  His  hand  was  across  his  eyes. 
Edgell  caught  the  wrist  of  the  hand.  "Yes,  I 
know,  papa  :  it  is  all  right,"  he  said  with  singular 
steadiness.  "  You  shall  burn  them  for  me."  Then, 
as  Edgell  hesitated,  a  burst  of  passion  came.  "  You 
shall !  for  I  can  not." 

Jem  laid  the  papers  he  held  back  on  the  table, 
almost  reverently.  Original  enterprise — creation — 
the  phenomenon  in  the  world  that  he  respected  most, 
and  from  the  hands  and  head  of  his  youngest  child  ! 
His  heart  had  leapt  within  him  to  hold  it,  and  much  of 
the  bitterness  of  the  last  ten  minutes  was  swept  away. 

"  Destroy  what  you  have  made  ?  "  he  said,  with  a 
s1  ;ort  laugh.  "  Is  it  likely  ?  Your  uncle  can  do  that, 


JAMES  373 

not  I.  I'll  keep  it  if  you  like — in  the  safest  place  I 
know.  Will  that  do  as  well  ?  And  I'll  keep  you  too, 
he  longed  to  say,  as  the  boy  lay  rigid  and  exhausted. 
He  suspected  how  one  word  would  have  set  him 
thrillingly,  eagerly  alive  again.  He  simply  dared  not 
say  it,  under  the  charm  of  this  return  to  his  own,  and 
of  the  misleading  moonlight.  He  must  have  time  to 
think  and  weigh  the  possibly  vital  consequences. 
He  was  badly  perplexed,  and  he  scarcely  knew  how 
much  time  passed  in  silence  before  he  spoke  again. 

"  It's  time  you  were  in  bed,"  he  said  suddenly. 
"  You're  half  asleep." 

He  wanted  to  think  so,  at  least ;  he  did  not  be- 
lieve he  was,  after  his  recent  profound  passion.  As 
he  still  did  not  move,  he  lifted  him  with  ease  and 
put  him  into  bed,  packing  him  safe  with  business- 
like precision.  As  he  rose  he  found  himself  gripped 
with  one  strong  hand. 

"  You're  not  angry,  papa  ?  " 

"  I'll  get  over  it,"  said  James. 

"  I  think  I  am  glad  I  have  told  you  that,"  said 
Tony  faintly. 

"  Well,  yes.  I  guess  you  may  be  that,"  said 
Edgell  with  emphasis.  "  You've  done  the  straight 
thing  in  telling,  and  you've  told  the  right  man." 

"  I  couldn't  have  "told  anybody  else." 

"Eh?     Not  your  uncle  ?" 

"Papa!" 

"  Not  your  grandfather  ?  " 

"  Before  I  had  told  you  ?" 

"  Not  your  brother  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !     He  so  loves  the  school." 

"  So  do  I.     It's  mine  as  much  as  his." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  am  sorry."  The  pain  in  his 
tone  this  time  was  more  than  Jem,  even  in  the 
character  of  the  exemplary  parent,  could  bear.  He 
bent  and  kissed  him  brusquely. 


374  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  You're  a  blessed  little  idiot,"  he  said  ;  and  then 
he  left  him  alone  and  went  downstairs. 

M.  Lucien  glanced  at  the  clock  as  he  entered  :  it 
had  registered  some  thirty  minutes  instead  of  three. 
Even  now  his  defaulting  brother-in-law  did  not  seem 
inclined  to  settle  to  business.  He  walked  restlessly 
to  the  window  and  observed  that  it  was  a  fine  night. 
He  stood  some  time  there,  gnawing  his  finger  and 
looking  out.  The  master  of  the  house  wrote  steadily 
and  serenely  the  while,  tossing  letter  after  letter  upon 
the  pile  beside  him,  and  laying  those  answered  in  a 
box.  His  arrangements  were  beautiful,  and  any 
really  practical  man  should  have  admired  them  ; 
but  when  Jem  walked  back  at  last  to  the  table  he 
found  it  for  some  reason  annoying. 

"  I  always  chuck  my  post  on  to  the  floor,"  he 
observed. 

'  Then,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  "  you  have  to  stoop  to 
pick  them  up.  Or  do  you  make  the  domestic  do  that  ? ' ' 

"Do  it  myself.     Good  exercise,"  said  Jem. 

"  I  have  not  your  figure,  James,"  said  Monsieur. 
"  And  I  find  method  saves  time." 

"  Hang  method,"  said  Jem.  "  You've  method  in 
teaching,  now,  I  bet." 

"I  trust  so." 

"  Snub  methodically,  eh  ?  Your  pupils  haven't 
much  conceit  of  themselves." 

"  Indeed  ?  That  is  well.  Which  of  my  pupils  do 
you  know  ?  " 

"  Only  one  :  and  I  know  uncommonly  little  of 
him,  worse  luck." 

"  Has  that  baby  been  complaining  of  me  ?  "  said 
M.  Lemaure,  smiling  slightly. 

"  No,"  said  Edgell,  walking  away  again.  "  He's 
thankful  for  small  mercies." 

"  Four  letters  long,"  said  Monsieur,  with  perfect 


JAMES  375 

comprehension.  "  I  thought  he  would  be  pleased 
by  that.  But  the  work  deserved  it,"  he  added,  sort- 
ing out  some  papers.  "  It  shows  what  he  can  do 
when  he  fixes  his  mind." 

'  You  want  him  to  go  eternally  with  his  mind 
fixed  on  your  miserable  little  blots  and  figures  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  If  he  is  to  live  a  professional  life, 
the  sooner  he  learns  to  concentrate  and  save  time, 
the  better  for  him." 

"  Who  said  he  was  to  lead  a  professional  life  ?  " 
said  Edgell,  stopping  in  his  restless  perambulation 
of  the  carpet. 

"  I  have  been  waiting,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  glancing 
again  at  the  clock,  "  for  the  last  forty  minutes,  for 
you  to  come  down  and  say  it  to  me.  It  has  been 
understood  :  but  I  imagine  it  rests  with  you  to  say 
it  once  for  all :  and  it  is  time." 

"  I  imagine  it  rests  with  me,"  said  Edgell,  stopping 
again,  his  back  to  his'Jbrother-in-law.  "  And  what 
if  I  say  he  shall  not  ?  " 

'  You  will  break  his  heart,"  said  Monsieur  quietly. 

"  His  ?     Sure  you  don't  mean  yours  ?  " 

"  And  ours.     But  that  is  a  separate  affair." 

Dead  silence. 

'  Your  father  wishes  it  too  ?  " 

"  I  feel  sure  he  has  always  wished  it :  quite  sure, 
though  he  has  been  careful  to  say  nothing.  He 
never  would  speak,  if  you  did  not,  though  he  has 
given  the  boy  the  most  valuable  part  of  his  training." 

Another  pause.  "  And  you  and  he,"  said  the 
engineer  slowly,  "  will  consider  this  training  wasted 
if  he  does  not  eventually  play  in  public  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  M.  Lemaure  promptly.  "  It  is  never 
wasted.  It  is  a  fine  education  in  thoroughness  and 
self-control,  the  finest  there  is." 

"  And  yet  it  will  break  your  heart — if  I  do  not 
give  him  up — to  the  populace  ?  " 


376  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  To  his  career,"  M.  Lucien  corrected. 

"  And — it  will  break  his  ?  " 

"  You  should  know  that,"  remarked  the  uncle, 
looking  up. 

"  I  know  it,  to-night  for  the  first  time.  How  the 
deuce  do  you  ?  "  He  came  up  close  to  the  writing- 
table.  They  looked  straight  at  one  another  for  a 
minute. 

"  Bah,"  said  M.  Lucien,  turning  aside.  "  I  have 
taught  him  constantly  for  two  years.  I  ought  to 
know  him.  His  purpose  wavered  for  a  bit,  but  of 
late  it  has  set  in  the  necessary  direction.  Is  that 
not  so  ?  " 

Jem  Edgell  stood  a  second  longer,  and  then 
dropped  his  big  form  into  a  chair. 

"  Deuce  take  it,  yes,"  he  said,  running  his  hands 
through  his  hair.  '  You  all  seem  to  know  more  than 
I.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  give  him  up  to  bondage, 
sooner  or  later.  But — it's  a  bit  hard  on  a  fellow  to 
have  to  think  of  that  the  first  night." 

The  little  Frenchman's  smile  was  a  trifle  disdainful. 

"  It's  the  way,  with  boys,"  he  said. 

"  Perhaps.  There's  Phil.  I  came  home  prepared 
to  give  my  mind  to  his  profession,  though  even  that 
at  leisure.  But  this — why,  I  had  hold  of  him  just 
now,  and  there's  nothing  of  him,  worth  mentioning." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  M.  Lucien.  "  Well,  we  shall  have 
to  reckon  with  what  there  is.  There's  a  letter  or  two 
here  " — he  sorted  through  one  of  his  orderly  boxes, 
— "  which  you  can  look  at  when  you  feel  inclined. 
They  might  interest  you.  But  I  believe  now  you  are 
indisposed  to  further  discussions.  Have  a  cigar  ?  " 

Whatever  M.  Lemaure's  habits  and  manners  were, 
his  tobacco  was  very  good.  The  same  liberal  spirit 
inspired  his  cigars  as  produced  the  beautiful  room  in 
the  wing  :  a  genuine  love  of  what  is  good  before  all 
other  considerations.  During  the  next  ten  minutes 


JAMES  377 

James  began  to  forgive  him  his  want  of  tact  and 
sympathy.  Fifteen  had  not  passed  before  a  large 
hand  insinuated  itself  by  Monsieur's  elbow,  and 
closed  on  the  two  letters  he  had  put  conspicuously 
aside.  One  was  concise,  inscribed  in  the  small 
pointed  hand  of  business.  The  other  large,  sprawl- 
ing and  magnificent.  After  that  silence  reigned  for 
some  time  in  the  room. 

Having  finished  his  correspondence  to  the  last 
post-card,  the  master  of  the  house  turned  out  his 
reading-lamp  and  went  to  the  hearth.  His  brother- 
in-law  was  still  lying  back  in  his  chair,  silent,  with 
the  letters  on  his  knee  and  his  hand  across  his  face. 

"  You  are  tired,  James,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  not  even 
sure  if  he  had  read  them,  for  he  made  no  remark. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  I'm  an  older  man  than  I 
thought.  Lucien,  when  did  you  get  these  ?  "  He 
tapped  the  papers  with  the  other  hand. 

"  One  is  about  a  year  back,  just  before  he  broke 
down.  I  gave  a  lecture  at  the  College,  and  the  little 
one  illustrated  for  me,  because  I  had  hurt  my  hand. 
I  had  no  idea  Harland  was  there,  until  he  wrote. 
That,  of  course,  I  simply  refused  by  return.  Old 
Baumann  heard  him  among  a  mixed  concourse  at 
that  wretched  school — where  every  one  seems  to 
united  to  undo  my  work — this  spring.  He  asked  him 
a  question  or  two  on  the  spot,  and  discovered  my 
address  from  the  register.  It's  a  tremendous  offer, 
even  from  a  soft-hearted  Jew.  The  flattery  is  gro- 
tesque, of  course,  but  I  believe  the  feeling's  genuine. 
I  should  double  my  clientele  to-morrow  if  I  could 
publish  it,"  said  Monsieur  pensively,  his  eyes  on  the 
sprawling  letter.  Edgell  toyed  with  it  too. 

"  And  I  haven't  yet  heard  him  play,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  My  little  bit  of  a  boy." 

"  You  could  hear  him  to-morrow,  if  you  wished," 
said  Monsieur,  leaning  back  against  the  chimney- 


378  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

piece.  "  But  I  do  not  advise  you  to.  He  will  not  be 
at  his  best  with  a  second-rate  accompanist,  in  that 
miserable  room.  He  is  still  very  unequal,  for  he  can 
as  yet  scarcely  depend  on  his  strength.  But  his  best 
is  worth  listening  to."  In  spite  of  himself,  his  voice 
dropped,  and  the  ring  of  pride  crept  through. 

"  What's  the  good  of  my  hearing  him  ?  "  Edgell 
burst  out.  "  I'm  not  a  confounded  manager,  to 
reckon  the  market  value  of  every  note  he  makes." 
He  flicked  the  letters  off  his  knee.  "  I  want  to  hear 
him  play  as  he  used  to  me  :  when  he  was  hardly 
big  enough  to  hold  the  fiddle,  and  his  mother  had  to 
keep  the  place  with  her  finger  in  the  book.  That's 
what  I  liked  and  what  I  want — music  that  is  worth 
the  name.  That's  what  I  came  home  for,  thanking 
my  stars  I'd  left  the  damned  money-getting  scuffles 
behind  me  on  the  other  side.  Where's  the  use  of  com- 
ing to  England  if  one  can't  call  one's  children  one's 
own  ?  I've  a  mind  to  go  back  to-morrow,  and  let 
you  and  the  Hebrew  vultures  settle  it  between  you." 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  "  you  are  his 
guardian.  Had  it  been  otherwise,  I  should  never  have 
approached  a  subject  which  vexes  you  so  much.  As 
it  is  " — he  turned  about — "  I  have  done  wrong  to 
approach  it  to-night,  and  I  ask  your  pardon,  Jem. 
We  will  say  no  more  until  you  have  considered  at 
your  leisure.  The  thing  has  been  on  my  own  mind 
so  long  that  I  am  over-eager  to  shift  it  to  yours." 

"  Confound  you,"  said  the  Englishman,  rising. 
"  You're  a  good  fellow,  and  words  can't  say  what  I 
owe  you.  But  you've  not  got  kids,  Lucien." 

"  No,"  said  Monsieur  calmly.  "  And  heaven  left 
out  sentiment  in  my  composition,  no  doubt  for  its 
own  good  reasons."  He  gathered  the  managers' 
letters  from  the  floor.  "  For  all  that,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  put  them  carefully  away,  "  it  has  been  a  vast 
pleasure  to  have  your  children  here,  for  both  of  us. 


JAMES  379 

It  has  diverted  me  :  and  as  for  Cecile,  she  has  never 
been  so  well  as  since  she  had  that  big  boy  of  yours 
to  play  with.  I  think  the  debt  is  equal." 

"  Lord  grant  it  is,  for  I've  not  much  to  pay  it  with," 
said  Edgell,  chucking  his  cigar-end  into  the  coals. 

"  Unless  it  is  to  refrain  from  depriving  us  of  them," 
said  Monsieur,  with  his  most  composed  suavity. 

"Oh,  they'll  probably  go  on  belonging  to  other 
people,"  said  Edgell  with  a  rueful  laugh.  "I'm  not 
one  to  settle,  and  they're  used  to  it.  Phil's  at  bottom 
a  cordial  soul,  and  will  make  his  own  belongings. 
And  as  for  the  other — dashed  if  I  think  he  ever  did 
belong  to  anybody." 

"  I  am  also  aware  at  times  of  that  sentiment,"  said 
Monsieur. 


II 

M.  LEMAURE  went  into  town  early  to  settle  some 
business  at  the  music-shop  which  hired  his  club  the 
room  for  their  concerts,  leaving  Antoine  to  follow  by 
the  midday  train.  He  gave  him  exact  directions  as 
to  what  he  was  to  do,  and  then  forgot  about  him,  as 
was  his  custom  ;  for  the  boy  was  quite  used  to  being 
independent,  and  for  all  his  absence  of  mind,  could 
generally  be  trusted  to  shift  for  himself,  and  turn  up 
when  he  was  wanted. 

The  heat  at  midday  was  remarkable,  but  Antoine 
was  so  concerned  about  his  strings  on  the  way  down 
to  the  station  at  Quainton,  that  he  hardly  thought 
about  such  a  minor  point  as  personal  discomfort 
until  he  and  the  violin  were  safely  installed.  Then 
he  had  leisure  to  remember  it,  as  it  is  not  hard  to  do 
in  the  month  of  August  in  a  leisurely  country  train, 
which  waits  at  every  possible  open  station  in  blazing 
sun  to  be  roasted  slowly  through  and  through. 

Antoine  talked  to  a  postman  and  a  farmer's  wife, 
who  accompanied  him  for  short  stages  of  the  journey, 
to  distract  his  mind  from  the  strings  and  the  stuffi- 
ness. Then,  being  left  solitary,  he  lost  himself  in  a 
dream  that  was  half  a  doze,  until  at  the  junction  for 
Roxminster  three  men  jumped  into  the  carriage.  At 
one  of  these,  a  dark  clean-shaven  man  with  a  clever 
face,  he  found  himself  staring  sleepily. 

"  Uncle  Ted  !  " 

"  Hey  ?  "  said  the  gentleman  turning.  "Hullo, 
Antoine,  what  are  you  after  ?  Going  to  Roxminster  ? " 

380 


JAMES  381 

"  But  you,"  said  Antoine,  quite  disturbed. 

"  I  am  too.  Your  father  got  my  telegram  when 
you  started  ?  " 

"  Telegram  ?     But  he  was  started  before  me." 

"  Eh  ?  Hang  it  all.  He  said  afternoon.  I  wired 
to  him  to  come  into  town  instead." 

"  It  was  so  hot :  he  started  early.  Oh — you  will 
not  be  there  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  if  I  am  here.  What  a  bother.  I 
hoped  to  stop  him.  Did  he  go  by  train  ?  " 

"  No,  by  the  bicycle.     He  started  at  ten." 

Huntly  Edgell  considered. 

"  He'll  be  through  Roxminster  long  ago.  No 
chance  of  his  stopping,  you  think  ?  " 

"  He  might  stop  to  bathe,"  said  Tony  reflecting. 

"  Up  by  the  bridge,  eh  ?  Yes,  that's  our  old  place. 
I've  a  mind  to  send  you  after  him,  boy.  I've  got 
business  in  the  town." 

"  So  have  I,"  said  Antoine. 

One  of  the  other  men,  who  was  attending,  laughed. 

"  What's  your  business — tuckshop  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Antoine,  who  was  nursing  the  violin  to  spare  it  all 
the  jarring  possible,  laid  a  hand  on  it  for  answer. 

"  Business  more  in  your  line  than  ours,  Salkowski," 
said  his  uncle,  looking  at  the  member  of  the  party 
who  had  not  yet  spoken.  This  personage,  clearly  a 
foreigner,  was  lying  back  apparently  in  great  exhaus- 
tion in  a  comer.  "  You're  all  for  art,  I  understand." 

"  One  takes  a  lesson  in  the  town,  eh  ?  "  he  said, 
casting  a  somewhat  contemptuous  look  over  to  the 
boy.  "  But  the  saints  protect  me  from  the  music  of 
a  country  town."  He  spoke  lazily,  in  a  rich  voice, 
with  an  unattractive  guttural  accent.  Antoine  took 
a  general  .survey  of  him,  and  then  looked  out  of  the 
window.  He  was  not  an  agreeable  object. 

"  Is  music  another  of  your  subjects  ? "  said  Huntly. 

"  Another  ?  "     He  gave  a  satisfied  laugh.     "  It  is 


382  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

the  first,  dear  friend.  The  principal.  My  earliest, 
onliest  love."  He  smiled  sweetly,  and  then  yawned, 
"  If  there  is  a  respectable  organ  in  your  cathedral, 
I  will  play  it.  I  cannot  play  bad  ones — my  soul 
revolts." 

"  I  think,"  said  Edgell,  "  in  this  case  the  organist 
will  revolt  as  well.  I  have  heard  Thursfield's  a  mar- 
tinet ;  but  try  by  all  means."  He  met  Antoine 's 
look.  "  You  know  Dr.  Thursfield,  Tony,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Think  I  had  better  try  ?  "  said  the  foreigner, 
turning  upon  him  a  sleepy  eye. 

"  No,"  said  Antoine,  drawing  slightly  back. 

The  sharpv-eyed  uncle  opposite  was  instantly  aware 
of  his  aversion,  in  part  no  doubt  because  he  shared 
it. 

"  How's  your  father,  Tony  ?  "  he  said,  leaning  for- 
ward as  though  to  protect  him.  "  Just  the  same  as 
ever?" 

"  Just  the  same."  The  boy  flashed  a  look  up. 
"  You  will  go  home  soon  to  see  him  ?  "he  suggested 
wistfully. 

"  As  soon  as  I  can  get  off,  of  course.  But  I'll  pro- 
bably miss  him." 

"  But  he  will  stay  for  you." 

"  Think  so  ?  Of  course  if  he's  the  sense  to  stay  " 
— Huntly  pondered  on  the  conjunction  of  James 
and  his  wife,  and  bit  his  lip — "  I'll  keep  him  over 
the  night.  That  meet  with  any  objection  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tony,  with  obvious  melancholy. 

"  I'd  have  you  over  too,"  said  his  uncle  kindly, 
"  only  the  house  is  crowded,  worse  luck."  He 
dropped  his  voice  :  by  which  Antoine  gathered  that 
the  regret  was  for  his  father's  sake.  He  shared  it, 
if  the  man  in  the  corner  was  among  his  uncle's 
guests.  That  man's  voice  had  been  uplifted  in  argu- 
ment while  their  short  colloquy  was  taking  place. 


JAMES  383 

He  talked  still  of  his  "  earliest  love  "  to  the  acquaint- 
ance beside  him,  who  was  conspicuously  bored  with 
the  subject.  The  talk  was  eloquent  in  its  way, 
expressed  with  a  cleverness  that  was  rather  showy, 
and  a  constant  satire  that  was  tiresome.  Huntly 
Edgell  bit  his  lip  again,  and  looked  as  if  he  longed 
to  interrupt  ;  when  he  was  saved  the  trouble  by 
Antoine's  string,  which  burst  inside  the  violin-case 
with  a  resounding  clang,  making  him  and  the 
rhetorician  in  the  corner  jump  simultaneously. 

"  He,  he  !  "  he  said  with  a  funny  air.  "  There's  a 
protest  against  the  climate  with  which  I  quite  agree." 

He  resumed  his  remarks,  but  he  had  an  eye  to 
the  boy,  who,  as  they  were  stopping  at  a  station, 
promptly  took  out  the  instrument  to  remedy  the 
mishap  while  he  had  leisure. 

"  Do  you  take  lessons  from  this  Thursfield  ?  "  he 
interrupted  himself  to  ask,  watching  his  neat  manipu- 
lation of  the  strings  with  a  certain  curiosity. 

"No,  sir." 

"  I  asked,"  said  Mr.  Salkowski  to  his  indifferent 
companion,  "  because  these  English  country  organ- 
ists usually  profess  four  or  five  instruments.  Their 
versatility  is  as  astonishing  as  their  incapacity." 

Antoine  had  had  enough. 

"  Dr.  Thursfield  is  my  friend,"  he  remarked,  look- 
ing up  while  he  tested  his  new  string. 

Salkowski  fixed  him  with  his  eyeglass  for  a 
moment. 

"  May  I  have  the  honour  to  convey  your  compli- 
ments when  I  call,"  he  drawled. 

"  He  will  not  be  in  his  house." 

"  Indeed  ?     Why  ?  " 

"  Because  he  will  be  at  the  concert." 

"  Concert  ?  "  The  stranger  woke  up  a  little. 
"  What  concert's  that  ?  " 

"  Ours,"  said  Antoine. 


384  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Yours  ?     And  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Member  of  Roxminster, 
withdrawing  his  protection,  since  he  felt  it  super- 
fluous, "  I  had  better  introduce  you.  My  brother's 
younger  son,  Salkowski.  Antoine,  this  is  Mr. 
Salkowski,  who  knows  about  everything,  and  Persian 
manuscripts  in  particular." 

'  You  flatter  me,"  said  the  distinguished  man. 

"  Not  at  all.     I  think  you  know  Lemaure,  eh  ?  " 

"  Which  ?  I  know  plenty  of  Lemaures.  They 
are  people  to  know." 

"  Lucien  Lemaure." 

"  Lucien,  eh  ?     That's  the  stupid  one.     There's 
always  one  in  a  clever  family." 
'  You'd  better  ask  this  kid." 

"  You  know  him,  youngster  ?  Ha,  you  learn 
from  him  possibly  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Tony.     "  He  is  my  uncle." 

"  Oh — come,  come  !  Such  uncles  on  both  sides," 
murmured  Salkowski,  rather  taken  aback. 

"  I  am  not  stupid,"  Huntly  Edgell  observed. 

"  Edgell !  I  am  always  so  rash  !  A  jest  merely 
— I  do  not  know  him." 

"  You  would  not  jest  about  him  if  you  did.  Eh, 
Tony  ?  " 

"  Aha !  "  said  Salkowski,  getting  more  comfortable. 
"He  is  severe.  I  approve  him  then.  Severity  is 
the  mark  of  the  good  teacher,  the  good  artist,  the 
good  anything.  /  am  severe,"  with  a  radiant 
smile.  "  I  have  a  high  standard."  He  lifted  his 
hand  shoulder-high  from  the  floor.  "  I  will  have  the 
best,  but  the  very  best . "  He  spoke  with  ogreish  play- 
fulness, smacking  his  lips.  "  Ha  !  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  rather  greedy,"  said  Antoine,  as  his 
uncle  did  not  seem  inclined  to  respond.  The  other 
man  laughed,  which  nettled  Salkowski. 


JAMES  385 

"  You  resemble  the  Lemaures  when  I  think  of  it,'* 
he  said,  using  his  eyeglass  again.  "  You  never  mean 
to  tell  me  you're  the  son  of  Henriette  ?  " 

He  had  a  flash  in  return  which  disconcerted  him. 
During  the  pause,  while  Antoine  clipped  the  violin 
into  its  case  with  precision,  the  distinguished  man 
turned  a  little  red.  He  had  meant  deliberately  to 
be  "  rash  "  again,  but  he  had  overdone  it.  To  cover 
his  mistake,  he  began  hastily  to  examine  the  boy  for 
further  details  of  the  Club,  which  he  gave  in  his 
usual  off-hand  manner  :  with  the  effect  of  increasing 
every  moment  the  Russian's  curiosity. 

"  I  think  one  must  go,"  he  said  to  Edgell  in  French. 

"  I  fear  that  one  can't,"  said  Antoine  politely  in  the 
same  tongue. 

"  Why  not,  my  child  ?  Are  the  public  not 
admitted  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  they  belong  to  the  Club  :  or  unless 
one  invites  them." 

"  Do  you  belong  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Antoine,  shifting  his  eyes. 
Again  the  onlookers  laughed. 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  coming  !  It  is  a  good  concert,  you 
say  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  the  best,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Good,  good,"  smiled  Salkowski.  "  A  point  for 
you.  But  how  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  My  uncle  has  said  this  is  not  a  good  day." 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  worst  day  in  the  world,"  yawned  the 
Russian.  "  But  that  is  no  one's  fault.  Who's  the 
soloist  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Tony.  He  sat  serenely  under  the 
laughter,  this  time  unanimous. 

"That's  why  it  is  not  a  good  day," his  uncle  sug- 
gested. "  Is  that  what  Lemaure  meant  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tony,  considering.  "  I  think  he 
meant  the  other  days  were  better.  He  says  they 

2B 


386  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

have  been  good,  during  this  summer.  The  Cathe- 
dral looks  beautiful,  over  there."  He  glanced 
ingenuously  out.  But  Salkowski  was  not  to  be  dis- 
tracted. He  was  beginning  to  scent  a  discovery. 

"  Come,  my  infant.     If  you  play,  you  may  invite." 

"  I  think,"  said  Antoine,  fixing  the  spires  absently, 

there  are  some  rules." 
What  rules  ?  " 

I  never  can  remember  :  there  are  a  great  lot." 
Who  makes  them  up  ?  " 

"They  all  do." 

"Who's  they?" 

"  Dr.  Thursfield  and  my  uncle  and  Mr.  Varell  and 
the  other  men.  They  are  always  making  them  up." 

"  Dear  me ;  but  then  there  is  nobody  to  keep 
them.  Ha,  ha  !  I  have  you  !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Antoine.  "  The  men  didn't,  at  first. 
So  then  they  made  a  rule  that  who  did  not  keep  them 
should  be  turned  out  from  the  Club." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  said  the  clever  stranger,  gaping. 
"  And  is  that  kept  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Tony,  "  by  my  uncle."  Meeting 
Huntly's  eye,  he  laughed  suddenly,  falling  back  into 
his  corner. 

"  You  have  had  some  lively  times  at  that  Club," 
the  Member  said. 

"  Yes — they  do  fight ;  but  the  music  is  very  good, 
generally."  He  put  a  hand  on  the  door,  as  the 
train  began  to  slacken. 

"  But  look  here,"  Salkowski  cried  hastily  in  French. 
"  Your  uncle  cannot  turn  you  out  if  you  are  playing  ?  " 

"  No,"  his  antagonist  admitted. 

"  Well  then,  he  cannot  do  anything  else."  The 
boy  raised  his  eyebrows  comically. 

"  Uncles  can  do  lots  of  things,"  Huntly  remarked. 

"You  need  not  try  to  run  away,  little  one.  I 
accompany  you.  Where  do  we  go  ?  " 


JAMES  387 

"  I  go  to  some  shops  for  my  aunt,"  said  the  boy, 
looking  away. 

"He  has  not  invited  you,"  Antoine's  uncle  ob- 
served. He  had  been  attending  with  interest.  He 
was  sorry  for  Antoine,  but  he  privately  longed  to 
be  rid  of  his  dear  friend. 

"  He  will !  "  the  stout  Russian  cried  vivaciously, 
"  Or  I  go  uninvited.  Wait  for  me,  my  little  friend." 

He  bundled  after  Antoine,  who  had  slipped 
hastily  out  of  the  train  as  it  ran  up  to  Roxminster 
platform. 

Huntly  Edgell  reached  home  after  all  sooner  than 
he  had  expected,  and  as  by  that  time  James  had,  as 
he  would  have  said,  "  got  through  with  Sylvia,"  the 
brothers  could  have  all  the  talk  they  wanted  on  the 
lawn.  Just  for  the  first  ten  minutes  of  reunion 
Huntly  felt  more  awkward  than  he  could  have 
wished.  In  his  fine  linen,  on  his  beautifully  rolled 
turf,  he  felt  so  baldly  the  successful  man  ;  and  though 
the  wanderer's  eye  beamed  friendliness  merely,  he 
could  not  help  by  his  own  appearance  emphasising 
the  point. 

"  This  is  gorgeous,"  said  James,  taking  in  his  trim 
surroundings,  when  he  had  completed  his  personal 
inspection. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  the  Member  hastily.  "  Gar- 
deners think  they  are  paid  to  snip  the  character  off 
everything,  and  I  can't  take  the  time  to  educate  them." 

"  Oh,"  said  Jem,  still  scanning  absently.  "  I  like 
things  shipshape.  It's  deuced  pretty.  I  hadn't 
realised  the  size  of  you,  though,"  he  added,  glancing 
round  with  a  glint  of  humour. 

"  I've  got  a  landscape  attached  to  me  in  these 
days,"  said  Huntly,  "  and  a  beastly  fag  it  is." 

"  Bigger  than  you  can  dig,"  said  James.  "  Yes, 
it  would  worry  me.  But  it  looks  to  me  as  if  you 


388  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

had  got  the  hang  of  it.  And  I  suppose  you've 
county  business  too  ;  and  political " 

"  And  a  family,"  the  Member  summed  it  up. 

"  Two,"  corrected  Jem.  "  Yes,  you've  a  sight 
to  run.  I  wonder  you  don't  look  older,  Ted." 

All  the  same,  he  thought  him  older,  as  he  shot  him 
a  keen  glance  :  and  something  more  than  old  as  well. 

"  How  does  the  Guthrie  connection  work  out  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  It's  a  girl,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Isabel's  a  jewel,"  said  Huntly  shortly.  "  That's 
all  you  can  say.  A  sort  of  a  rest-cure  from  the 
rest  of  womankind." 

Jem  marked  the  touch  of  bitterness  in  the  tone. 

"  I  envy  you,"  he  said  quietly.  "  A  daughter 
thrown  in,  good  Lord.  It's  more  than  you  deserve — at 
your  age."  He  tried  to  finish  lightly,  without  success. 

"  Did  you  want  a  daughter,  Jem  ?  "  said  Huntly 
in  sheer  surprise.  His  brother's  look  was  revelation. 
"  Why  the  deuce  don't  you  marry  again  ?  You've 
money  enough,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  money  enough,"  said  the  engineer. 
But  no  more  details  came  though  Huntly  pined  to 
know.  "  I  shall  have  to  jaw  you  professionally 
about  my  affairs,  but  that  can  wait." 

"  Don't  let  it  wait  too  long,  that's  all,"  said  the 
younger,  acutely.  He  was  up  and  forgetting  to  smoke. 

"  If  I  don't  place  it,  I'll  be  chucking  it  away," 
said  Jem,  easily  forestalling  his  thoughts.  "  Don't 
worry,  old  boy  ;  you  shall  find  snug  corners  for 
most  of  it.  But  I'm  here  to  have  a  good  time, 
don't  you  forget  that." 

"  Confound  you,"  said  Huntly,  half-vexed,  half- 
amused.  "  Any  one  would  think  you  were  a  lad 
home  for  the  holidays." 

"  Just  what  I  am,"  said  Jem.  "  And  it's  the  best 
sort  of  idea.  Can't  think  why  I  never  did  it  before. 
Now,  leave  that  crafty  expression,  which  always  did 


JAMES  389 

make  me  want  to  kick  you  " — Himtly  dropped  back 
helplessly,  and  resorted  to  smoking  again — "  and 
tell  me  about  your  own  property." 

"  What  ?  "     The  landed  proprietor  was  puzzled. 

"  Henry.  Ah,  that's  better."  For  the  Member's 
face  changed  oddly  on  the  word.  "  Haven't  I  been 
leading  up  to  Henry  from  the  start  ?  As  if  anything 
else  really  matters." 

"Jem,  you — "  He  flung  down  the  match  in  his 
hand.  "  You're  on  the  spot,  as  usual.  Hal  does 
matter.  The  worst  of  it  is  he  knows  it.  He's  as 
clever  as  the  deuce,  and  knows  our  plans  for  him 
almost  before  we  know  them  ourselves." 

Jem  nodded.     "  Phil  was  like  that." 

"  Was  he  ?  Yes,  he  was  a  bit,  I  remember.  Well, 
he's  turned  out  normal  enough." 

"  Quite  normal.  School  helps  that  kind  of  lad. 
Can't  Hal  get  to  school  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  dared,"  said  Huntly,  sighing  bitterly. 
"  He's  really  such  a  weakling.  I  mean,  it's  more 
than  mother's  notions,  Jem.  I  dare  all  sorts  of 
things  when  he's  not  there,  and  then  his  little  peaky 
face " 

"  It's  been  anxious  work  bringing  him  up,  eh  ?  " 
James  sat  forward  sympathetically.  He  was  a  plea- 
sant listener,  Huntly  realised,  a  feeling  revived  from 
old  days. 

"  Anxious  ?  We've  all  but  lost  him  twice  ;  and  it's 
always  touch  and  go  when  he  catches  cold." 

"  Lungs  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  :  bronchial  though."  But  Jem  would 
not  have  it ;  he  required  to  know,  and  gave  his  clever 
brother  no  peace  until  he  had  gathered  the  precise 
medical  evidence.  Huntly  was  astonished  by  his 
knowledge,  and  consoled  by  the  reassurances  result- 
ing from  his  exact  observations  of  treatment.  It 
seemed — like  so  many  things  with  Jem — to  be  one 


3QO  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

of  his  private  interests,  and  an  accurate  mind  as 
usual  turned  it  to  profit.  There  was  nothing  that 
was  picturesque  in  his  stories,  but  much  that  was 
pointed.  Little  by  little  the  weight  on  the  Member's 
mind  lifted,  as  he  realised  to  his  surprise  that  other 
boys  were  as  his,  and  other  fathers  troubled  with  a 
sense  of  the  same  vague  menace  about  the  heads  of 
their  prized  ewe-lambs. 

"  I  say,  you  seem  to  have  noticed  children  a  bit," 
said  Huntly  at  last. 

"  I've  got  children,"  said  Jem.  "  That  brings  it 
under  my  business." 

"  All  very  well.  You  haven't  [attended  to  yours 
much." 

Jem  laughed  good-humouredly. 

"  I  brought  up  one  till  he  was  as  old  as  yours. 
Don't  you  brag." 

Huntly  realised  this  as  fact.  "  Then  you  left  him 
on  the  world,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  considered  he  was  fit  to  be  left.  So  he  turned  out." 

"  Who's  bragging  now  ?  What  about  the  other, 
too,  answer  me  that.  Was  he  fit  to  be  left  without 
your  benignant  eye  ?  " 

Jem  was  silent  a  second — then  he  said  solemnly  : 
"  They  were  healthy  kids." 

"  Humph.  Didn't  Philip  nearly  die  of  pneumonia 
at  school  ?  " 

"  That,"  Jem  explained,  "  was  his  own  confounded 
folly.  I'd  told  him  fifty  times  his  life  was  in  his  own 
hands  if  he  got  a  chill  on  the  top  of  heating.  He 
couldn't  say  he  hadn't  been  warned — young  fool !  " 

Huntly  began  to  laugh.  "  Hear  the  tender  father. 
What  about  Antoine  last  year  ?  I  suppose  that  was 
his  confounded  folly  too.  Eh,  Jem  ?  "  For  Edgell 
did  not  speak. 

"Not  his,"  he  said  at  last.  But  his  brother  saw 
he  had  been  hit. 


JAMES  391 

"  You're  fighting  on  thin  ground,"  he  said  acutely, 
"  and  you  know  it.  But  perhaps  you  thought 
Antoine's  business  was  chiefly  fuss.  I  know  Sylvia 
said — "  he  looked  at  Jem.  "  Sorry,  old  boy.  Women's 
gossip  is  generally  misleading.  You  worried,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  was  in  hell  for  five  months,"  said  Jem,  looking 
over  his  head.  "  The  worst  was — I  could  have  told 
them.  Nothing  was  needed  but  a  little  anticipating  ; 
the  plainest  kind  of  precautions." 

"  Dear  me.  I  had  an  idea  the  whole  thing  was 
more — well — intangible.  It  was  mysterious  enough 
to  an  outsider."  Huntly  was  a  trifle  amused  ;  it 
consoled  him  that  Jem  should  fuss  too,  after  his  talk 
on  the  subject.  "  How  you  could  let  the  foreign 
quacks  experiment  behind  your  back,"  he  said, 
almost  with  a  shudder. 

James  gathered  himself  together. 

"  Savigny  is  no  quack — nor  even  a  stranger  to  me. 
I  knew  him  in  life  for  a  year,  and  had  known  him 
through  his  books  for  ten.  Lemaure  knew  him  as  a 
personal  friend.  As  to  experimenting,  he  did  that 
with  my  full  permission.  He  said  would  I  do  the 
service  to  science,  and  I  wired  consent  at  once. 
They  took  no  single  step  without  my  approval,  Ted. 
I  want  you  to  have  that  clear.  I  was  proud — and 
confident — and  as  anxious  as  the  devil."  Jem  wiped 
his  brow  and  paused. 

"  Well,  you've  certainly  thrown  a  new  light  on  it," 
said  Huntly,  interested  in  spite  of  himself.  "  Where 
did  you  pick  up  that  impersonal  enthusiasm  for 
science  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  pick  it  up.  It  has  always  been  in  me. 
Phil  has  succeeded  to  it,  I'm  glad  to  say.  Health's 
the  burning  question  of  the  world,  isn't  it  ?  And 
health  of  the  brain  before  all.  And  where's  the  use 
of  tinkering  here  and  tampering  there  if  we  are  not 
ready  to  make  a  big  sacrifice  now  and  again  ?  I  may 


392  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

never  get  another  opportunity  in  this  life."  He  was 
obviously  profoundly  serious. 

Huntly  fidgeted.  Old  Jem  was  always  the  same  : 
ideals  and  notions,  and  no  grain  of  solid  success  to 
show  for  it. 

"  Of  course/'  he  said,  "  if  you  knew  the  doctor  it 
makes  a  difference.  But  personally,  granted  I  ever 
could  do  it,  which  I  never  could,  I'd  have  had  to  be 
on  the  spot.  Whereas  I  suppose  you  did  your  day's 
work  in  California  as  usual,  while  they  were  using 
your  kid  like  a  scientific  guinea-pig  in  Paris." 

"  Yes,  I  did  my  work,"  said  Jem.  "  I  could  have 
done  no  good  by  coming  home,  anyway.  Lemaure 
was  on  the  spot,  as  you  say,  but  he  could  do  nothing. 
We  had  to  trust  Savigny.  I  think,"  said  Jem,  with 
thoughtful  justice,  "  it  was  even  harder  for  Le- 
maure." 

"The  boy's  an  asset  to  his  mother's  people,  I 
suppose,"  said  Huntly.  "They  value  his  music." 
Jem  nodded,  and  Huntly  spoke  no  more  of  the 
Lemaures.  He  knew  little  of  them,  and  cared  less, 
apart  from  their  more  immediate  relation  to  his 
brother.  Jem's  cranks  always  amused  him.  He 
asked  if  he  proposed  to  make  any  further  sacrifices 
in  the  direction  of  Science  with  a  great  S.  Jem 
considered. 

"  If  ever  Savigny's  biography  is  written,"  he  said, 
"  I  shall  have  to  publish  the  letters  he  wrote  me.  It 
would  be  a  sacrifice,  too,  for  they're  full  of  intimate 
detail.  But  I'd  have  to  make  them  known.  Any- 
thing more  magnificent — more  clear — more  gentle, 
— there's  a  great  fellow  if  you  like.  Quack,  indeed  !  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  beg  his  pardon,"  the  Member  smiled. 
"  Quack  was  a  loose  word.  I  can't  stand  doctors  as 
a  rule." 

"  That's  a  bother  for  you,  if  you  ever  have  to  trust 
to  them.  \Vait  till  you  have  the  sort  of  debt  I 


JAMES  393 

have  to  Savigny  :  though  he's  more  than  a  doctor, 
certainly." 

"He's  high  on  your  pet  pedestal,"  said  Huntly. 
"  You  always  had  some  one  there,  didn't  you,  Jem  ? 
Lord,  it's  odd  to  find  you  just  what  you  were  at 
sixteen  !  "  He  felt  very  comfortable  in  his  armour 
again  by  this  time.  "  Well,  I  shouldn't  think  you 
have  to  bother  any  further  about  Tony  now.  To 
judge  by  what  I  saw  of  him,  he's  more  than  fit  to 
look  after  himself. "  He  had  told  J em  about  the  meet- 
ing in  the  train.  "  I  say,  why  didn't  you  bring  some 
family  along  ?  I  thought  you  said  you  meant  to." 

"Philip,"  said  Jem,  solemnly,  "  is  suffering  from  a 
headache."  He  chuckled  suddenly.  "  Lor',  I  do 
have  fun  with  Phil.  It's  this  way  :  he  came  down 
to  breakfast  when  we  had  all  finished  about  ten, 
feeling  interesting.  '  Should  he  lend  me  his  bicycle, 
because  his  aunt  thought  he  had  better  not  ride.' 
Perfect  picture  he  looked  as  he  said  it  too."  Jem 
paused  to  stuff  his  pipe. 

"  Lots  of  people,"  said  Huntly,  "  say  he  reminds 
'em  of  me." 

"  I  don't,"  said  Jem  promptly.!  "  Neither  looks  nor 
other  things.  He's  got  a  variety  of  the  old  devil 
quite  different  from  yours." 

Huntly  grinned,  and  he  continued. 

"  Anyway  I  was  level  with  him.  '  Don't  want  to 
come,  eh  ?  '  says  I.  '  That's  just  as  well,  because  I 
was  going  to  forbid  you  to.'  You  should  have  seen 
him  jump  !  He  had  had  sunstroke  once  as  a  kid,  so 
the  thing  had  passed  through  my  mind.  Beastly 
lucky  I'd  thought  of  it." 

"Well,"  ejaculated  the  Member.  "Of  all  dis- 
respectful parents  !  " 

"  Oh,  he's  just  the  same  sweet  humbug  he  was  at 
ten  years  old,"  said  Jem,  "  when  our  games  were  con- 
tinuous, so  I  ought  to  know.  Add  to  that,  all  round 


394  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

spoiling  has  made  him  take  himself  as  serious  as  the 
Scriptures — and  there  you  are." 

"  I  suppose  when  you  forbade  him,  he  wanted  to 
go  with  you,"  said  Huntly,  whose  sympathies  were 
quite  with  his  nephew  in  this  matter. 

"  Second  thoughts — yes,  he  rather  did.  Day  was 
cooler  than  he  expected — quite  a  breeze  there  was. 
Hadn't  had  a  sunstroke  for  years.  Way  here  a  bit 
hard  for  me  to  find  alone — twelve  miles  on  English 
roads  !  "  Jem  paused  to  chortle.  "  All  the  rest  of  it, 
quite  conclusive.  So  I  sent  the  kid  to  fetch  me  a 
map,  and  advised  Phil  to  go  in  and  lie  down.  Gave 
him  the  word  to,  in  fact,"  said  the  engineer — "  quite 
startled  my  little  kid  alongside — and  there  was  an 
end  of  him." 

"  Suppose  he  really  had  a  headache  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  had,"  said  Jem  calmly,  "  but  he  needn't 
have  mentioned  it.  I  told  him  he  was  coming  last 
night.  It's  partly  Cecile's  fault,  of  course,  but  he's 
no  right  to  give  in.  He's  a  baby,"  Edgell  finished. 

"  Think  so  ?  I  had  an  idea  you'd  find  him  rather 
forward.  I  like  an  argument  with  Phil." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  the  brains,"  said  Jem.  "  His  head's 
in  front  of  the  rest  of  him."  He  paused,  and  then 
abandoned  the  attempt  to  explain.  "  I  guess  he's 
ever-educated,"  he  concluded  comfortably. 

"  Like  me,"  Huntly  chuckled. 

"  Like  you— that  part." 

"  What's  he  going  on  to — have  you  fixed  ?  " 

"  More  or  less.  He  knows  his  own  mind,  that's 
one  comfort.  I've  told  him  he  can  read  medicine  in 
Edinburgh,  or  London,  or  Paris  :  he  can  choose — 
so  long  as  it's  a  capital."  James  grinned  now  at  his 
brother's  alarmed  face  of  protest.  "  Come  on,"  he 
said.  "  Speak  up  for  your  little  garden-cities,  do." 

"  He's  cut  out  for  Oxford,"  Huntly  cried.  "  And 
he  wants  to,  I  bet.  You've  been  bullying  him,  Jem." 


JAMES  395 

"Not  much,"  said  James.  "  My  one  fear  is,  he'll 
be  a  young  gentleman  in  spite  of  it.  He's  a  bit  too 
bluish-green  for  my  tastes  as  it  is.  You  can't  walk 
the  streets  without  catching  that  nowadays.  So  I 
reckon  the  public  schools  have  a  go  of  it  too — once 
a  year,  when  they're  through  with  the  measles." 

"  You  simply  don't  deserve  him,"  declared  the 
Member  quite  warmly.  "  I  never  heard  of  such  rank 
waste  !  When  you've  got  the  money,  and  he's  got 
the  brains — a  boy  like  that,  well  set  up,  well-bred, 
well-equipped — he'd  sweep  the  board  at  Oxford,  if 
you  gave  him  half  a  chance." 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Jem,  with  maddening 
serenity. 

"  It's  nothing  but  arrogance,"  said  Huntly.  "  I 
tell  you  it  is,  yours  as  much  as  ours.  Just  because 
you  kept  clear  of  it,  you  think  there's  nothing  in  it." 

"  I  read  for  a  year  at  Cambridge,"  Jem  observed, 
contemplating  him.  As  a  fact,  he  had  withdrawn  on 
his  father's  death,  to  give  a  chance  to  his  brilliant 
younger  brother. 

Huntly  was  only  thrown  out  for  a  second,  how- 
ever :  his  electioneering  had  served  him. 

"  And  you  tell  me  you  didn't  enjoy  it,"  he  said. 

"  Never  told  you  any  such  thing.  It  was  the 
dearest  little  time  of  my  life — as  pretty  as  a  picture. 
When  nights  were  hot  in  Egypt  six  years  back,  and 
I  couldn't  sleep  for  fever,  I've  thought  of  that  little 
river  and  the  trees,"  said  Jem,  "and  the  nice  young 
fellers  playing  around  among  them.  If  the  point 
was  to  enjoy  yourself — I'd  shunt  Phil  right  there  to- 
morrow. Don't  you  make  any  mistake  about  that." 

"  Have  you  said  so  to  him  ?  "  said  Huntly,  with 
guarded  satire. 

"  No."     Jem  was  blunt. 

"He's  a  willing  sacrifice,  is  he  ?  " 

"  He's  all  right :  he  cares  for  his  work.     If  he's  real 


396  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

assiduous  for  a  year,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden 
twinkle,  "  may  be  I'll  let  him  make  up  some  poetry 
for  a  treat." 

"  Well !  "  Huntly  gave  him  up.  "  I  sincerely  hope 
he'll  fall  in  love  with  a  lady's  maid  before  half  that 
year  is  out,  and  turn  the  tables  on  you,  poetry  and 
all." 

"  No  such  luck  for  him,"  said  Jem  earnestly.  Then 
he  had  to  pull  up,  and  the  colour  showed  in  his  brown 
face,  as  Huntly  collapsed  into  his  chair. 

"  You're  colossal,"  his  brother  gasped.  "  You've 
still  got  faith  in  females." 

"  Oh  well,"  said  Jem,  "I  ain't  an  Oxford  man.  I 
tell  you,  Ted,"  he  broke  out,  "  if  my  Phil  could  make 
a  real  right-down  fool  of  himself  just  once,  I'd  back 
him  to  be  as  good  as  any  one.  But  he  can't,  poor 
lad,  with  this  green-sickness  they  all  get  nowadays. 
Till  he's  worked  his  skin  off,  which'll  take  a  mighty 
time,  he's  no  chance." 

"  Chance,"  cried  Huntly.  "  They'll  be  at  him  in 
a  year." 

"  That,"  James  explained  gravely,  "  ain't  the  kind 
of  chance  I  mean."  And  he  added  with  pleading, 
"  Get  off  it,  Ted." 

So  Huntly,  still  the  younger  brother  in  spite  of  all 
the  interval  which  had  passed,  had  to  "  get  off  ";  and 
soon  after  they  rose  to  walk  round  the  grounds. 


Ill 

WHAT  with  Huntly's  late  appearance,  and  the  time 
subsequently  devoted  to  gossip,  Jem  made  himself 
so  late  returning,  that,  arriving  at  Roxminster  in  good 
time  for  the  last  train,  he  mentally  tossed  up  whether 
he  should  not  take  it.  On  passing  through  the  Close 
he  was  decided  thereto  by  the  sight  of  his  own 
party,  which  he  had  quite  forgotten.  They  were 
walking  slowly  ahead  of  him  in  the  direction  of  the 
station,  discussing  the  events  of  the  afternoon  so 
ardently  that  Jem,  pushing  the  bicycle,  came  up 
behind  unperceived. 

"  Who  let  him  in  originally,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 
said  M.  Lemaure. 

"  I  didn't,"  said  the  tall  thin  man,  who  was  walking 
in  the  middle.  "  Did  you,  Antoine  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  I  tried  to  make  him  keep  out."  The 
boy's  voice  had  a  sound  of  strain,  to  his  father's 
sharp  ears. 

"  It  was  your  fault  he  came,  in  the  first  instance," 
M.  Lemaure  growled.  "  It  is  not  the  first  time  you 
have  picked  up  acquaintances  who  were  a  nuisance 
to  yourself  and  other  people." 

"  Well,  Antoine  suffered  for  it,"  said  the  tall  man, 
putting  a  hand  of  protection  on  his  shoulder.  "  We'll 
have  up  the  subject  at  the  next  committee,  Lemaure. 
It's  time  the  rule  about  visitors  was  seen  to.  Rule 
number  ninety-six  " — he  turned  to  the  boy — ''  '  No 
extraneous  visitors  unless  they  can  control  their 
enthusiasm.'  Rule  number  ninety-seven :  '  No 

397 


398  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

encores  of  any  sort  with  the  thermometer  at  70.' 
I  have  just  made  them  up,  and  I  am  President  of  the 
Club." 

"Then  as  President,  Thursfield,  you  might  keep 
lunatics  from  entering  it."  M.  Lemaure's  temper 
had  manifestly  been  jarred  by  late  events. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  do  that,"  said  the  tall  organist  gently, 
"  because  so  many  are  in  it  already.  Here,  I  say,  I 
have  got  to  go  back.  Good-night,  lunatic."  He  took 
his  hand  off  Antoine's  shoulder  as  they  stopped  at 
the  station  turn.  The  others  turned  round  when  he 
did,  and  there  was  a  general  exclamation. 

"Thought  I'd  overhaul  you,"  said  Jem  calmly, 
"  but  I  was  collecting  a  few  secrets  first." 

"  Ah,  James,"  said  M.  Lemaure,  smoothing  his 
brow.  "  You  know  Thursfield,  eh  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Jem.  "It  was  old  Hugueson  in  my 
time." 

The  two  tall  men  shook  hands,  exchanging  a  look 
of  interest  as  they  did  so. 

"  Been  having  a  warm  time,  eh  ?  "  said  James  : 
and  his  eyes  fell  on  his  son  for  an  instant. 

"  Don't  revive  the  subject,"  Thursfield  pleaded. 
"  We're  so  sick  of  it,  aren't  we,  Antoine  ?  The  moral 
is,  really,  open  the  window.  We  were  wrangling 
like  cats  in  that  hole,  and  all  for  want  of  a  little 
air." 
.  "  You  turned  faint,  eh  ?  "  said  Jem,  sharply. 

"  No,  not  quite."  Thursfield  answered  for  him. 
"Only,  you  see,  he  doesn't  smoke,  so  he  felt  it  the 
most.  His  head  went  round  with  the  lot  of  us,  and 
no  wonder." 

"  Turned  your  head,  did  they  ?  "  said  Jem. 

"  Yes.  It  was  turned  a  little,"  said  Tony,  thought- 
fully. 

Even  M.  Lemaure  joined  in  the  laugh.  Then  he 
turnedjio  his  brother-in-law. 


JAMES  399 

"  You  ride  your  bicycle  home,  James  ?  "  he  sug- 
gested. 

"  No.  It  shall  travel  on  the  train.  I'll  come  on 
with  you." 

"  You  would  be  at  Brackenhall  as  soon  as  we 
should.'" 

"This  way  I'll  be  there  before,"  said  Jem. 
"  I'll  ride  up  from  Quainton  and  order  supper  for 
you." 

"  It  seems  a  remarkable  taste,"  M.  Lucien  observed, 
"  to  ride  in  the  hottest  portion  of  the  day,  and  refuse 
to  ride  in  the  evening." 

"  I've  a  pass  on  the  line,"  said  Jem  looking  at  the 
sunset,  "  and  I  want  to  use  it." 

"  You  are  as  great  a  child  as  Antoine." 

"  A  bigger  one,  I  guess,"  said  Jem.  "Go  ahead, 
Tony,  and  get  me  a  ticket  for  the  bicycle." 

The  boy  went  on,  and  M.  Lemaure,  who  kept  a 
very  sharp  eye  on  him,  followed.  The  pair  they  left 
strolled  slowly  along  the  station  road,  whence  the 
view  of  the  Cathedral,  its  trees,  and  the  sunset  behind 
invited  to  lingering. 

"He  had  to  play  twice  because  a  cad  demanded 
it,"  said  Thursneld  briefly.  "  Lemaure  wanted  to 
turn  him  out,  there  was  a  bit  of  a  row,  and  some 
of  the  fools  hissed.  I  think  the  baby  was  rather 
frightened." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Jem.  "  I  like  to  be  posted."  They 
went  on  in  silence  for  a  minute. 

"  I  have  wanted  to  know  you,"  said  Thursneld  sud- 
denly, "  ever  since  I  knew  Antoine.  We  are  friends, 
he  and  I.  He  has  often  spoken  of  you." 

"  You  won't  get  much  further  by  knowing  me,  if 
that's  it,"  said  Jem. 

"  That's  not  it.     I  don't  want  to  get  further." 

"  You  think  you  understand  him  ?  " 

"  It's  quite  a  simple  nature,"  said  Thursneld.   "  The 


400  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

difficulty  is,  to  simplify  oneself  to  meet  it ;  but  I 
find  it  comes  with  practice.  I  like  practising.  I 
hope  you've  no  objection." 

"  I'm  much  obliged,"  said  Edgell.  "  He's  in  luck 
to  make  such  friends." 

"  No  luck  about  it,  excuse  me.  I've  done  nothing 
for  him  but  give  him  a  quiet  time  occasionally.  I 
remember  wanting  that  when  I  was  a  boy  of  his  age, 
and  not  getting  it.  Boys  don't  much." 

"  Were  you  like  that  ?  "  said  Jem  bluntly. 

"  Like — no.  I  was  the  solitary  seeking  sort  of  boy. 
But  I  sought  all  the  time  :  I  never  found — that  mad- 
dening, tiring  rapture."  His  eyes  were  fixed  vaguely 
on  the  way  before  him,  for  he  carried  himself  a  little 
bent.  "  It's  not  the  lot  of  many." 

Edgell  was  silent.  His  calculating  eye  measured 
the  distance  still  left  them  to  traverse,  and  suddenly 
he  spoke. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  he  said,  "  if  you're  the  man 
to  advise  me." 

Thursfield's  kind  deep-set  eyes  looked  round  at 
him.  "Yes?" 

"  It  seems  cool  on  such  short  acquaintance.  But 
I've  rushed  my  life  so  that  all  my  acquaintances  are 
short." 

*'  I  see.  For  instance,  with  your  own  sons." 
Thursfield  came  to  meet  him. 

"That's  it.  You'll  take  me  right  if  I  speak.  In  a 
fashion  I  know  him.  In  a  fashion  I've  got  him  by 
heart." 

"  Better  than  any  man,"  said  Thursfield  quietly. 
"  I  believe  that." 

"  Yes,  you  believe  it.  The  Lemaures  don't,  confound 
them.  They're  sweeping  him  from  me  at  such  a  rate 
that  I'm  on  the  edge  of  acting  like  a  fool,  and  regret- 
ting it  ever  afterwards."  He  paused  and  ground  his 
foot  in  the  gravel  of  the  path  they  trod.  "  I've  a 


JAMES  401 

few  ideas  of  my  own,  if  it  comes  to  that ;  and  what's 
more,  I  bar  being  hurried.  I  bar  it  most  for  him, 
knowing  him  as  I  do." 

"To  be  sure.     Yes,"  the  other  man  said  mildly. 

"  Did  you  look  at  him  just  now  ?  Well,  chuck 
that  thing  into  the  crowd,  just  as  he  is,  and  what  will 
be  left  of  him  in  a  year's  time  ?  For  I've  no  real 
hope  he'll  ever  be  different." 

"  You're  afraid,"  said  Thursfield  slowly. 

"  Well,  wouldn't  you  be  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Not  if  he  was  yours  ?  " 

"  I  believe  not."  He  plucked  a  leaf  or  two  from 
the  hedge,  and  flung  them  away.  "  You  see,  it's  like 
this  :  he  sees  his  own  way,  if  you  don't." 

"  He  can't  see  far  ahead,  baby  as  he  is." 

"  All  he  needs.  Good  heavens,  don't  vex  yourself, 
man.  He'll  just  find  his  way,  Antoine  will."  He 
waved  a  long  hand.  "  And  he'll  go." 

After  a  pause  they  walked  on  again,  for  they  had 
stopped  :  Edgell,  who  seldom  acted  on  such  sudden 
impulse,  rather  ashamed,  but  reassured  all  the  same. 
This  was  a  remarkably  reassuring  fellow  he  was  with, 
certainly  :  and  he  "  guessed  "  he  was  a  clever  reading 
fellow,  who  thought  about  things  and  liked  explain- 
ing them,  as  Edgell  thought  about  a  complicated 
machine.  Very  probably  he  had  got  a  knack  in  the 
trade,  and  explained  them  right  :  anyway,  he  was  a 
pleasant  man  to  talk  to. 

They  parted  with  the  warmth  of  old  acquaintance 
inside  the  station  as  the  train  ran  in. 

"  Be  a  good  boy,"  said  Thursfield,  with  a  manner 
of  gentle  reminder,  as  Tony  turned  to  him,  "  and 
don't  overdo  it." 

"  Overdo  being  good  ?  "  Jem  queried. 

"  Especially  being  good.  Overdoing  anything  is 
exhausting  and  waste  of  time.  The  better  the  thing, 

2C 


402  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

the  worse  the  waste.     Lemaure,  this  text  applies  also 
unto  you.     Good  evening." 

"  The  man  is  crazy,"  Monsieur  murmured,  as  the 
train  left  his  thin  figure  on  the  platform.  "  Who 
ever  knew  me  overdo  anything  ?  " 

Edgell  thought  the  boy  at  his  side,  palpably  over- 
done, might  have  answered,  but  he  was  quite  silent 
for  a  long  while  after  parting  with  his  friend.  He 
sat  in  the  train  opposite  his  father,  his  eyes  absently 
reviewing  the  landscape,  his  sensitive  brows  twitching 
from  time  to  time  ;  though  whether  with  lately- 
suggested  thought,  or  pain,  or  mere  customary 
nervousness,  the  observer  could  not  determine. 
Whatever  the  cause,  the  manifestation  was  uncon- 
scious, for  when  Edgell  asked  him  suddenly  what 
was  the  matter  he  brought  his  eyes  out  of  vacancy 
and  stared. 

"  What  are  you  frowning  at  ?  " 

"  Frowning — me  ?  The  sun,  perhaps.  I  don't 
know." 

"  Then  don't  do  it.  You've  nothing  on  your 
mind  now." 

The  boy  laughed  slightly     "  I  had  not  before." 

"  Not  in  the  train  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Oh,  except  the  strings.     You  mean  that  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  Are  you  as  sure  of  yourself  as  all 
that  ?  " 

"Sure  of  myself?  How  that?"  He  frowned 
again,  smoothing  his  brow  immediately  with  a  little 
shake  of  the  head  irresistibly  foreign.  Edgell  laughed 
in  spite  of  himself,  and  leant  forward. 

"  How  that  is  not  English,  Tony.  Aren't  you 
frightened  of  appearing  in  public  ?  " 

"  I  wasn't  before.  You  see,  I  didn't  know  what 
would  happen  there." 

"  You  knew  you  were  going  to  play  with  a  lot  of 
people  looking  at  you." 


JAMES  403 

'  Yes,  I  knew  that.     But  not  what  sort  of  people." 

"  You  little  idiot.  What  does  the  sort  of  people 
matter  ?  " 

"  It  matters  a  great  deal — everything.  It  is  beastly 
when  the  room  is  wrong,"  said  Antoine  with  an  air 
of  giving  information.  "  It  was  funny,  for  generally 
that  room  is  quite  right  :  with  Dr.  Thursfield  there  in 
front,  and  those  other  men — but  now,  next  time,  I 
will  not  be  sure.  I  think,  perhaps,  yes,  I  will  be 
frightened  next  time."  He  looked  pensive,  not  being 
permitted  to  frown. 

"  Perhaps  there  won't  be  a  next  time,"  said 
Edgell,  dropping  the  other  quest. 

"  Not  just  like  that,  no.  It  is  never  the  same  of 
course.  That  is  so  curious,  in  concerts." 

"  Perhaps  you  won't  play  in  public  again  at  all." 

"  Public  !  "  said  the  boy,  with  a  little  accent  of 
mockery.  "  How  you  say  that,  papa.  I  shall  play 
my  violin  again  at  all — hein  ?  " 

'To  me,"  said  Edgell,  his  eyes  half-closed. 
"  Perhaps,  now  and  then." 

"  Public,  that  is  what  is  not  you,"  said  Antoine 
after  a  pause.  M.  Lemaure  laughed,  and  he  flashed 
a  look  sideways.  It  was  not  his  uncle's  habit  to 
laugh  at  his  jokes.  His  quick  senses  were  stirred  by 
some  thrill  of  contention  in  the  atmosphere,  and  it 
made  him  nervous,  even  with  the  great  consolation 
of  his  father's  presence.  What  M.  Lemaure  did  not 
approach  to  realise,  while  he  was  silently  approving 
his  pupil's  attitude,  was  how  all  his  heart  was  strain- 
ing towards  that  short-spoken  father  opposite. 
Monsieur  knew  Antoine  the  musician  well  enough, 
and  could  more  or  less  foretell  his  proceedings  :  but 
it  was  not  in  him  to  grasp  the  root  of  the  boy  that 
his  father  had  known  from  infancy.  Thence,  from 
that  very  incapacity,  the  contention  sprang,  and  so 
it  was  bound  to  flourish.  Edgell  was  a  little  annoyed 


404  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

at  the  last  remark,  its    point    emphasised  by    his 
brother's  laugh. 

"  You  wouldn't  care  to  play  to  me,"  said  he 
gruffly.  "  You  want  a  roomful." 

'  You  mean — when  ?  " 

"  Any  time.     To-night." 

"  To  you  ?     To-night  ?     Yes,  if  you  would  like." 

"  You  don't  want  to.     It's  dull,  eh  ?  " 

"  Dull — it  is  not  that  that  I  feel,  quite—  "  he  broke 
short,  for  again  M.  Lucien  laughed.  Tony  really 
wished  he  wouldn't. 

"  Your  playing's  too  good  for  me,"  his  father 
persisted  angrily. 

"  Papa — but  it  is  too  bad — to-night."  He  looked 
aside  to  the  view  again,  and  his  father  saw  he  was 
holding  back  the  tears  with  difficulty.  It  vexed  him 
that  he  was  moved  so  easily,  a  British  annoyance. 
Why  could  he  not  be,  at  all  events  now  and  then,  like 
other  boys  ?  Like  Philip,  who  had  such  serene 
command  of  his  ample  wits  ?  For  the  rest  of  the 
journey,  Jem  wrestled  with  his  irritation  in  silence, 
answering  shortly  to  M.  Lucien's  amiable  remarks. 
Indeed  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  impossible  actually  for 
them  both  to  be  content. 

The  question  of  a  cab  was  raised  at  Quainton 
station,  but  M.  Lemaure  succumbed  with  resignation 
to  Antoine's  decision  that  he  wished  to  walk.  Edgell 
observed  that  he  was  really  very  careful  of  the  boy, 
according  to  his  notions.  He  told  him  indeed  that 
his  distaste  for  driving  was  nonsensical,  and  con- 
tradicted every  remark  he  made  on  the  subject,  but 
when  it  came  to  action,  he  allowed  him  to  have  his 
own  opinion,  and  what  is  more,  walked  with  him, 
much  as  he  generally  disliked  that  exercise.  Edgell 
took  no  part  in  the  discussion,  but  before  he  mounted 
his  bicycle  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the  violin.  At 


JAMES  405 

Antoine's  look  of  horror,  his  face  which  had  been 
impenetrably  grave  since  their  difference  in  the  train, 
relaxed  a  little. 

"  I  shan't  smash  it,"  he  said.     "  Give  it  here." 

Antoine  glanced  at  his  uncle  as  though  for  support. 

"  I  had  better  carry  it,"  he  said.  "  I  do  always. 
I  had  rather." 

"  Give  it  here,"  said  Edgell,  in  something  the  tone 
he  had  used  to  Philip  in  the  morning. 

"  It — it's  mine,"  said  the  boy.  Then,  as  his  father 
silently  prepared  to  mount,  "  Take  it,  papa,"  he 
said  at  the  last  possible  minute.  Edgell  was  in 
his  seat  by  the  time  the  words  were  spoken,  and 
there  was  barely  time  to  shift  the  instrument 
from  hand  to  hand.  The  check  made  him  swerve 
dangerously,  and  with  the  extra  weight  suddenly 
thrown  on  him,  any  but  an  expert  would  have  risked 
a  fall.  As  it  was,  Antoine  caught  his  uncle's  arm  in 
a  spasm  of  terror,  until  the  convoy  righted,  and 
sped  ahead  up  the  twilight  road  :  the  rider  with  a 
grim  smile  unseen  by  those  behind.  He  really  en- 
joyed matching  his  will  with  that  of  these  sharp 
young  descendants  ;  after  years  of  dull  commanding 
and  prompt  obedience,  he  was  fascinated  by  such 
little  domestic  tussles  to  the  point  of  trying  to  pro- 
voke them. 

He  looked  down  at  his  rival  the  violin,  now  in  his 
power,  and  was  conscious  of  whims  concerning  it. 
Suppose  he  broke  it — flung  it  in  the  ditch — what 
would  that  boy  behind  him  do  ?  It  was  as  frail  a 
thing,  as  easily  crushed,  as  Tony  himself,  who  had 
shown  his  weakness  that  day  so  abundantly.  Jem 
Edgell  set  his  teeth  and  gripped  it  as  though  the 
impulse  was  within  him  to  take  such  action.  A  life 
in  the  wilderness  inclines  to  despotism,  and  the 
temptation  to  domineer  had  been  attacking  him  at 


406  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

intervals  all  day.  He  strove  now  against  an  obstinate 
attack.  It  was  so  easy  for  outsiders  like  that  Thursfield 
to  talk  of  standing  aside  :  how  could  he,  Jem,  stand 
aside  from  his  own  kid  ?  Tony  was  his  special  pro- 
perty ;  he  had  been  fascinated  by  him  as  a  baby,  and 
every  look  and  word  now  was  reviving  the  fascina- 
tion which  had  not  been  able  quite  to  penetrate  by 
means  of  his  odd  little  letters.  Jem  "  wanted  "  Tony  : 
the  simple  word  expressed  his  simple  feeling.  He 
wanted,  as  he  had  always  done,  to  seize  and  lead 
him  by  force  along  the  ordinary  approved  paths  of 
life  that  he  knew  ;  he  detested  the  idea  of  his  wander- 
ing away  into  a  region  out  of  his  ken.  He  required 
to  keep  him  in  sight,  laughing  and  admiring,  as  he 
could  while  he  was  still  a  baby,  and  the  strong  artist 
spirit  in  infancy.  The  boy's  present  independence 
was  tormenting  ;  it  only  added  to  the  torment  that 
Antoine  had  always  been  clever  in  his  own  line,  and 
if  the  music  had  not  flooded  his  other  gift,  Jem  was 
convinced  he  could  have  made  of  him  a  capital  and 
probably  original  mechanician.  As  it  was,  he  had 
to  realise  that  such  ideas  were  worse  than  useless, 
and  that  he  must  sit  and  look  on  while  others  handled 
and  directed  his  own  little  machine.  He,  James, 
who  '  adored  to  run,'  who  knew  himself  capable 
beyond  most  men  of  '  running,'  must  let  others 
run  his  own  child.  "  Hanged  if  I'll  stand  it,"  said 
Jem,  with  quite  unreasonable  ire,  as  he  jumped  off 
to  walk  up  the  last  hill  to  Brackenhall. 

With  the  slower  motion  of  walking,  his  age  and 
weariness  returned  on  him,  and  his  thoughts  changed 
their  current.  His  eye  fell  on  the  violin  again,  but 
it  suggested  revolt  no  longer.  Where  had  he  carried 
it  before — and  for  whom  ?  He  had  known  well 
enough  as  he  took  it  from  his  boy's  hand,  by  an 
electric  thrill  up  his  arm.  Commonly,  she  had 
refused  to  part  with  it,  like  him.  But  all  those  last 


JAMES  407 

months,  when  her  troubles  came  upon  her,  she  had 
been  tired,  pettishly  or  pathetically  tired,  and  when 
the  three  of  them  went  up  the  road  to  the  chateau, 
he  must  hold  it  for  her. 

Jem  walked  with  bent  head  in  the  dusty  road, 
holding  off  the  memories  as  he  could,  which  were 
flying,  whirling  about  his  brain  and  heart.  In  the 
midst  of  that  confusing  pain,  the  wish  came  to  him 
anew  that  he  had  a  daughter,  that  that  little  daughter 
had  survived  who  died  with  her  in  Brittany .  Women 
were  good  in  these  unaccountable  seasons  of  trouble  ; 
spoiled  childish  Henriette  had  been  good,  with  her 
whims  and  mockeries,  and  miraculous  rushes  of 
insight  and  sympathy.  She  had  kept  him  awake, 
alive  ;  he  had  slept  since  then.  Was  this  waking 
now  ?  He  reviewed  the  women  he  had  known  in 
America.  What  a  lot  there  were  who  had  been 
kind  to  him  too.  Brisk,  wise,  ingenuous  girls — the 
best  girls  in  the  world,  his  intellect  said,  as  he 
watched  and  listened  to  them  ;  warm-hearted  women 
nearer  to  his  age,  with  the  frankest  interest  in  him, 
his  heart,  and  the  story  he  never  told.  He  smiled 
as  he  remembered  the  little  accidents  of  his  business 
life — smiled,  almost  wondering  at  himself.  What  a 
fool  old  Ted  would  think  him  if  he  knew ;  what  a 
fool  he  was,  no  doubt,  not  to  be  able  to  forget. 
Where  was  the  use  of  remembering  such  things  ? 
Twelve  years  of  ordinary  orderly  domesticity  a  man 
might  foster  the  memory  of  gladly  ;  not  a  life  like  his, 
that  was  meant  to  live  at  red  heat,  to  dream  of  dimly 
sometimes — but  in  all  reason  to  leave  behind. 

He  frowned  and  shook  himself  as  he  turned  his 
bicycle  in  at  the  garden  gate.  He  had  ridden  the  three 
miles,  under  the  spur  of  his  thoughts,  very  rapidly. 
He  was  fagged  and  hot,  and  glad  to  be  home  ;  and, 
talking  of  women,  Cecile  and  her  menage  were 
superb  of  their  kind,  even  though  their  kind  was 


408  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

French.  All  his  young  manhood  had  been  spent  in 
France,  and  he  had  a  taste  for  French  methods  rare 
in  an  Englishman.  The  atmosphere  of  the  house,  as 
well  as  the  scent  of  dinner,  struck  him  pleasantly  as 
he  entered.  He  let  the  girl  at  the  door  relieve  him 
of  the  violin  before  he  thought,  and  turned  quickly 
to  correct  the  error. 

"  That  is  M.  Antoine's,"  he  said,  speaking  the 
language  of  the  house  on  instinct. 

"  I  know,  monsieur.     M.  Antoine  follows  ?  " 

"  In  about  half  an  hour."  As  her  eyes  dwelt  on 
him  he  suddenly  remembered  her. 

"  You  are  Yvonne  Fantec,"  he  said  keenly 

"  Monsieur  remembers,"  she  said,  taking  with 
serenity  an  address  which  would  have  abashed  an 
English  servant. 

"  It  seems  I  must  to-night,"  said  Edgell,  not  to 
her.  "  How  did  you  come  here  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  himself  recommended  me  to  Madame." 

"  Did  I  ?  You  were  the  clever  one,  yes.  The 
baby."  He  studied  her  thoughtfully. 

"  I  am  just  the  age  of  M.  Philippe,"  said  Yvonne 
demurely. 

"  Exactly  so.     That  was  how "     He  held  out 

his  hand  to  Philip's  foster-sister.     "  All  Fantecs  are 
friends,"  he  said  with  characteristic  simplicity. 

"  Indeed  I  hope  so,  monsieur."  She  smiled,  and 
he  realised  that  she  was  a  very  pretty  girl. 

' '  M.Philippe  used  to  bully  you,"  he  said,  smiling  too. 

"  He  does  not  now,"  said  Yvonne. 

"  Bet  he  don't,"  thought  Edgell.  "  You're  happy 
here,  eh  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  serve  messieurs,"  said  Yvonne, 
whose  business  was  to  serve  Madame. 

"  Which,  I  wonder,  now  ?  "  said  Edgell  to  himself. 
He  had  an  absurd  recollection  of  Huntley's  jest  con- 
cerning the  lady's  maid. 


JAMES  409 

"  You  know  what  to  do  with  that  ?  "  he  called 
back,  recollecting  the  violin. 

"  He  has  let  me  carry  it  before,"  said  the  girl  with 
a  flash  of  gaiety.  She  was  only  nineteen,  and  she 
adored  this  family.  '  Will  monsieur  have  dinner 
served,  or  wait  for  him  ?  " 

"  I'll  wait  for  them,"  said  Edgell,  looking  down, 
and  as  he  went  on  to  the  bathroom,  he  soliloquised, 
"  Phil's  out  of  it." 

When  he  felt  clean,  Jem  strolled  out  to  where 
Philip  reclined  in  a  deck-chair  on  the  lawn.  He 
had  watched  him  sardonically  while  he  dressed,  for 
he  lay  languidly  doing  nothing,  with  his  arms  behind 
his  head,  evidently  still  very  sorry  for  himself  indeed. 
Such  behaviour  was  the  thing  that  least  in  the  world 
appealed  to  Jem's  sympathies,  unfortunately.  He 
went  up  to  him,  and  the  boy's  eyes  lightened  at  his 
coming.  To  a  curt  question  how  he  was,  Philip 
replied  with  dignity  that  he  was  getting  on.  He 
roused  himself  to  ask  some  questions  about  his 
uncle,  but  Jem's  answers  were  brief  and  conversation 
did  not  prosper.  Jem  was  tired  himself,  mind  and 
body,  and  he  expected  Philip  to  give  him  his  chair  ; 
but  such  a  proceeding  never  occurred  to  the  invalid 
himself.  When  Madame  came  softly  across  the  lawn 
to  them,  matters  between  the  pair  of  Englishmen 
were  at  a  standstill,  Philip  eyeing  his  silent  father 
rather  wistfully. 

Madame  had  her  private  comment  :   she  caressed 
Philip  and  spoke  to  James. 

"  Lucien  is  dining,  Jem,"  she  said.      '  Will  you  not 
come  in  ?  " 

"  Don't  want  to  move,"  said  Edgell  like  a  lazy  boy. 

He  had,  in  the  interval,  relapsed  into  her  hammock. 

"  That  is  a  sign  you  need  it,"  said  the  little  lady. 

"  Besides,  the  soup  is  too  good  to  waste.     I  will 

bring  you  some." 


410  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Cecile  ! "  Edgell  sprang  erect.  "  Do  you  never 
make  this  fellow  fag  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Madame,  taking  Philip's  head 
between  her  hands.  "  But,  you  see,  to-day  he  is  not 
well.  Darling,  you  ate  no  dinner.  Won't  you 
accompany  your  father  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Philip,  reconciling  himself  gracefully 
to  this  idea.  "  Is  there  enough  ?  " 

"  Plenty,  for  Antoine  refuses  ;  and  your  father  has 
not  had  your  company  all  day."  She  looked  with 
slight  reproach  at  her  brother-in-law,  who  seemed 
so  unmoved  by  Philip's  sufferings.  The  boy  pulled 
himself  languidly  upright,  and  preceded  them  indoors. 

'  Where's  the  young  one  ?  "  Edgell  asked  her. 

"  He  came  in  dusty,  and  I  sent  him  to  wash.  He 
said  he  did  not  want  to  dine,  and  I  said  that  was  no 
reason  for  not  washing.  He  is  quite  good,"  said 
Madame,  "  but  he  will  argue." 

"  Hadn't  he  better  have  some  food  ?  "  said  Edgell 
modestly. 

"  Oh,  Yvonne  will  take  him  some  bread  and  milk. 
One  can  never  tell  what  he  will  do  after  a  concert." 

"  He's  a  trouble  to  you,  eh  ?  " 

"  Oh  dear  no,"  said  the  little  lady.  "  I  leave  him 
quite  alone  till  he  gets  over  it.  If  he  is  rude  or 
remiss,  he  is  quite  sweet  about  it  afterwards — when 
I  point  it  out  to  him.  I  tell  Lucien  he  is  perfectly 
easy  to  manage,  if  you  don't  get  in  a  fuss." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,  "said  Jem  quietly."  And  Phil-?  " 

"  He  lets  himself  be  managed  too,"  she  said,  her 
light  frown  melting.  "  Is  he  not  improved  ?  " 

"  He's  grown,"  said  Edgell.  "  And  I  hope  his 
temper's  improved  with  years." 

'  Temper  ?  Bah,  a  man's  nothing  without  that. 
Why,  if  it  had  not  been  for  Lucien's  temper,  my  life 
would  long  since  have  become  too  triste  to  live.  It 
is  the  je  ne  sais  quoi  of  unexpected  in  him  that  is  so 


JAMES  411 

delightful."  She  finished  the  sentence  in  her  hus- 
band's presence,  for  they  had  entered  the  dining- 
room.  "  Lucien,  my  angel,  did  you  call  for  my 
gloves  at  Rayner's  ?  " 

M.  Lemaure's  face  changed. 

"  Sixpence,"  said  Philip  promptly  to  his  aunt.  "  I 
told  you  he'd  forget." 

"  And  I  trusted  you,"  Madame  wailed.  "  And  I 
lose  sixpence  for  it  to  this  brigand,  not  to  mention 
my  credit  to-morrow." 

"  Tenez,"  said  Monsieur,  after  frowning  savagely 
for  a  moment.  "  I  told  Antoine  to  call,  as  he  would 
have  more  time  than  I."  He  looked  at  her  calmly 
triumphant. 

"  Good  child,"  said  Madame,  sitting  down  relieved. 
"  I  hope  he  had  the  sense  to  put  them  in  the  violin- 
case,  and  not  in  his  pocket.  I  found  a  mouse  in  his 
pocket  on  Saturday,"  she  turned  to  Edgell,  "  and  I 
gave  it  to  the  cat,  and  Yvonne  says  he  cried  all  night. 
It  appears  it  was  not  dead,  as  I  thought,  but  only 
crippled  by  a  trap  ;  and  he  had  projects  of  curing  it 
— imagine  the  child.  I  do  trust  my  gloves  are  safe." 

"  I'm  sure  they  are  quite  safe,"  said  Philip.  "  At 
the  shop." 

"  Don't,  darling,"  said  Madame.  "  You  are  sure 
you  told  him,  Lucien  ?  I  mean,  told." 

"  I  told — "  said  Monsieur.  "  Exactly  as  I  told  him 
to  register  my  letter,  and  to  carry  two  extra  strings. 
In  the  very  same  manner." 

;'  Did  he  do  the  other  things  ?  " 

"  Immaculately." 

"  There,  Philippe.  You  should  have  more  confi- 
dence in  your  brother." 

"  Like  to  risk  another  sixpence  ?  "  said  Philip,  who 
was  feeling  better  rapidly.  "  He'd  forget  to  go  to 
the  shop,  to  begin  with.  If  he  got  there,  he'd  ask 
for  the  wrong  thing.  If  they  put  the  right  thing 


412  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

into  his  hand,  he'd  thank  'em  nicely  and  leave  it  on 
the  counter.  Should  have  thought  you  knew  him 
by  now." 

"  Oh,  Mary,"  said  Madame,  turning  dramatically 
to  the  servant,  "  for  Heaven's  sake  tell  Yvonne  to  tell 
M.  Antoine  to  come  here  at  once.  Never  mind  the 
coffee.  I  cannot  bear  the  suspense." 

"  Why  so  elaborate  ?  "  Monsieur  inquired,  lifting 
an  eyebrow,  as  the  girl  departed. 

"  Yvonne  will  know  where  to  find  him,  and  what 
to  do.  He  will  not  have  gone  to  bed,  he  was  too 
wild  when  I  saw  him.  He  is  probably  feeding  the 
dogs.  Yvonne  will  know." 

Yvonne  herself  was  the  first  to  enter,  graceful 
and  composed,  the  coffee-cups  in  her  hand. 

"  M.  Antoine  will  come  immediately,  madame." 

"  Where  was  he  ?  " 

"  In  his  room,  with  the  little  Max.  He  stayed 
merely  to  wash  himself." 

"  I  told  him  to  do  that  half  an  hour  ago,"  said 
Madame. 

"  Possibly  he  forgot,  madame,"  said  Yvonne,  as 
she  handed  the  coffee  to  Philip. 

"  Possibly,"  said  that  gentleman.  "  I  say,  I  had 
some  before.  I  shan't  sleep.  Is  she  looking  ?  " 

"No,  monsieur,"  said  the  girl ;  but  her  glance 
travelled  to  Edgell,  whose  eyes  were  on  the  pair. 

"  No,  you  don't,"  he  said.  "  Hand  me  that  cup, 
and  the  sugar — thank  you." 

"  My  head's  awfully  bad,"  Philip  murmured. 

"  If  monsieur  would  remember  to  draw  his  sun- 
blinds  at  night,"  said  Yvonne,  in  a  low  voice,  "  his 
room  would  not  be  so  hot  in  the  morning." 

"  How  can  I  remember  to  shut  out  the  sun  in  the 
dark,"  he  retorted.  "  You  must  do  it." 

"  He  used  the  '  vous,'  Edgell  noticed.  Little 
Yvonne  on  the  shore  had  always  been  '  tu  '  to  him. 


JAMES  413 

'  You  have  done  so,  Yvonne  ?  "  said  Madame, 
turning  briskly.  "And  the  other  rooms  on  that  side  ? " 

'  There  is  only  M.  Antoine's  madame  ;  and  he 
rises  always  so  early  that  I  thought ' ' 

"Oh,  yes,  yes.     I  wish  he  would  come." 

"  Le  voila/'  Yvonne  said,  setting  down  the  coffee 
tray,  and  beginning  to  pile  the  plates  ;  for  they  had 
finished  their  meal. 

"  Sure  you're  clean  ?  "  said  Philip,  as  the  boy- 
entered .  He  cast  a  hasty  glance  down  at  his  hands. 

'  You  washed  in  the  dark,"  said  his  aunt,  with 
relentless  insight.  "  And  see  what  a  coiffure  for 
society.  However,  we  will  overlook  that  for  now. 
Antoine,  where  are  my  gloves  ?  " 

'  What  ?  "  he  stammered,  astonished. 

"  Fork  out,"  Philip  cried  to  her.     "  I  told  you  so." 

"  Careless  boy,"  she  was  tragically  beginning,  when 
M.  Lucien  cut  in,  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  What  did  you  do  at  Roxminster  to-day  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  "     He  gazed,  perfectly  at  sea. 

"  Yes.  Between  your  arrival  at  the  station,  and 
the  time  of  the  concert." 

The  boy  considered.  He  was  quite  unprepared 
for  this  sudden  inquisition. 

"  At  the  station  I  talked  to  the  man." 

"  What  man  ?  "  asked  Madame. 

"  A  man  I  met  in  the  train." 

"  Respectable  ?  "  inquired  Philip  pleasantly. 

"  No,"  Monsieur  answered  for  him.  "  An  ill-bred 
man.  Disreputable  probably." 

"  The  friend  of  Uncle  Ted,"  Antoine  supplied. 

"  Hullo  !  "  said  Philip. 

"  He  said  so,"  said  Monsieur.  "  One  need  not 
believe  for  a  moment  he  was.  It  was  an  excuse  to 
come  where  he  was  not  wanted,  and  make  himself 
objectionable." 

"  But  uncle " 


414  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

'  You  are  answering  my  questions,  Antoine.  You 
spoke  of  the  concert  to  this — ah — stranger  ?  Tais- 
toi,  Cecile.  I  have  my  own  reasons  for  wishing  to 
know," 

"  I  said  I  was  playing " 

"  That  was  quite  enough,"  said  Philip  as  he 
hesitated. 

"  I  said  that  we  played  Borodine,  and  he  said  that 
was  what  he  would  hear,  for  Borodine  was  his 
father's  friend." 

"  Just  as  he  was  Uncle  Ted's,"  said  Philip. 
"  Ingenious  chap,  this." 

'  Just  as  that,  yes.     I  did  not  like  him  at  all — 

"  Did  you  tell  him  that  ?  "  said  Madame,  who  was 
amused  to  the  exclusion  of  the  glove  quest. 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  said  Antoine.  "  But  I  told 
him  my  uncle  would  not  like  him — like  him  to  go 
there,  I  mean.  I  said  how  you  would  be  angry  " — 
he  looked  at  Monsieur — "  and  that  it  was  better  out 
of  doors." 

"  Hear,  hear,"  said  Jem  Edgell  through  his 
smoke. 

"Well,"  said  Antoine,  with  a  rapid  glance,  "I  hated 
for  him  to  come.  And  Uncle  Ted  would  only  laugh, 
though  he  was  his  friend " 

There  was  an  exclamation  that  brought  him  up 
short  with  a  jump. 

' '  You  mean  your  uncle  was  there  ? ' '  Monsieur  cried . 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  Then  he  was  his  friend." 

"N-no." 

"  Of  all  the — contradictory — "  M.  Lucien  turned 
on  him.  "  Why  can't  you  tell  a  plain  tale  straight  ? " 

"  Because  how  it  happened  was  mixed.  I  don't 
know  why  you  want  to  know."  His  voice  was  a 
trifle  shaky,  but  he  stood  very  still  and  straight, 
with  his  chin  up. 


JAMES  415 

"  Never  mind.  He  was  his  friend  if  your  uncle 
was  there  and  spoke  to  him." 

'Yes.  No.  For  you  see  it  was  how  he  spoke.  He 
looked  at  him  here  " — Tony  touched  his  chest — "  in- 
stead of  up  at  his  face  :  and  his  voice — oh,  you  know 
how  I  mean."  He  swung  to  his  brother. 

"  He  likes  me,"  said  Philip.  "  I  never  saw  him  look 
at  my  tie,  to  remember." 

"  But  you  know  how  I  mean." 

"I  do,"  said  Edgell,  unexpectedly  entering  the 
field.  "  It  is  true  that  he  can't  stand  Salkowski. 
Go  on,  kiddy." 

"  And  so  he  would  not  take  him  away,  though  I 
wanted  that.  And  so  he  came  with  me,  and  talked 
of  Russian  music." 

M.  Lemaure  gave  a  snort. 

"  Well,"  said  Antoine,  frowning  as  he  turned  to 
him,  "  very  much  of  what  he  said  was  right,  only  the 
way  he  said  it  was  so  nasty.  He  liked  the  quartette 
in  A  of ' ' 

"  Thank  you,"  his  master  cut  him  off.  "  Where 
did  you  go  with  him  ?  ' ' 

"  To  the  post-office,  because  of  the  letters.  And 
he  was  horrid  because  he  carried  them,  and  one  was 
not  there,  and  he  said  it  was  dropped,  and  really  it 
was  in  his  pocket  all  the  time.  That  is  not  to  amuse 
when  it  is  hot  in  a  post-office  before  a  concert.  And 
it  was  that  letter  with  the  red  thing  you  spoke  loud 
about "  He  looked  again  at  his  inquisitor. 

"  There  was  another  trifle,"  said  Monsieur,  "  about 
which  I  spoke  quite  as  loud,  if  not  louder." 

"  My  gloves,"  cried  Madame. 

"  Gloves  ?     No.     You  did  not  say  that." 

"  Don't  contradict.  I  gave  you  positive  directions : 
and  you  thought  about  something  else  all  the  time." 

Antoine  took  it  in.  "The  red  letter  perhaps." 
He  sunk  his  head  with  a  sigh. 


416  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"Apologise,"  said  his  father  from  his  smoky  corner. 

"  Oh  yes.  I  am  very  sorry."  He  turned  to 
Madame,  who  shook  her  head. 

"  And  I  in  my  old  gloves  shaking  hands  with  the 
world  to-morrow.  This  comes  of  chattering  to  every 
odd  person  you  meet ,  and  so  forgetting  your  errands . ' ' 

"  No,"  said  Antoine,  "  for  before  that  I  had  for- 
gotten the  gloves.  And  I  did  not  talk  to  him,  except 
not  to  be  most  rude.  He  talked  all  the  time " 

"  Confound  him,"  said  M.  Lemaure.  "  He  can't 
stop  talking." 

"  No,  you  heard  how  :  and  such  ugly  French. 
He  said  I  had  the  English  accent  and ' ' 

"  What  a  lie,"  said  Philip.  "  Madame  says  your 
accent's  better  than  mine." 

"  Your  French  is  perfect,"  pronounced  Madame. 
'  The  man  was  evidently  a  vulgar  foreigner." 

"  Russians  pique  themselves  on  speaking  all  lan- 
guages vilely,"  M.  Lemaure  cut  quickly  in.  "  His 
French  was  disgusting  :  his  English  probably  worse." 

"  I  only  heard  him  speak  English  a  little,"  said 
Tony  reflecting.  "  At  first  in  the  train,  and  then  to 
the  young  lady  in  the  shop.  And  besides  I  did  not 
hear  what  he  said  to  her." 

"Tactful  you  are,"  said  Philip,  while  Madame's 
eye  flew  to  her  husband. 

"  Beast,"  Jem  Edgell  muttered  to  his  pipe.  "  Tony, 
which  of  the  shops  was  that  ?  The  post-office  ?  " 

"  No.  I  can't  remember  the  name.  Where  I  went 
for  the  little  parcel." 

"  Rayner's  ?  "  Madame  gasped. 

"  Yes.  Oh,  was  that  the  gloves  ?  I  am  sorry." 
He  drew  back  nervously  from  her  assault,  for  she 
caught  and  embraced  him  with  ardour. 

"  Tell  your  horrid  brother  to  give  me  sixpence 
instantly  :  and  you  shall  have  it  to  do  what  you  like 
with.  Where  are  they,  darling  ?  " 


JAMES  417 

He  looked  up  puzzled,  a  little  vaguely. 

"  Child,"  she  said,  drawing  back.  "  You  didn't 
let  the  monster  carry  them." 

"  No,  no.  He  was  talking  to  her.  I  put  it  some- 
where— not  in  my  pocket." 

"  Good  boy,"  Madame  encouraged  him.  "  Inside 
the  violin  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  there  was  not  room.  I  wish — I  could 
think."  He  had  turned  his  head  aside,  so  that  Edgell 
could  not  see  his  face  ;  but  Yvonne,  from  her  haven 
behind  the  table,  had  her  eyes  fastened  on  him. 

"  You  must  have  tied  it  on  to  the  violin,"  Madame 
said  imploringly. 

"  Yes.  I  think  I  must,"  he  said,  after  a  rather 
helpless  pause. 

"  Pardon,"  Yvonne  came  into  the  discussion 
quietly.  "There  was  nothing  tied  to  the  violin, 
for  I  saw." 

"  Did  you  ?  "  His  eyes  shot  to  her,  as  in  relief. 
"  I  carried  it  there,"  he  repeated  to  himself,  frown- 
ing. "Then  Dr.  Thursfield  to  the  station.  Then 

in  the  train,  yes — then "    He  turned  round  to 

his  father.     "  Papa  !  " 

"Quite  right,"  said  James.  "You've  run  it 
down.  Maybe  these  are  your  gloves,  Cecile.  It 
bumped  against  my  hand  as  I  rode,  so  I  took  it  off 
and  put  it  in  my  pocket.  There  are  no  dead  mice 
there  to  my  knowledge." 

He  handed  a  small  compact  parcel  across.  Tony 
gave  a  sharp  sigh  of  relief. 

"  You  knew  all  the  time,"  cried  Philip  indignantly. 

"  I  remembered  halfway  through.  But  I  could 
not  spoil  the  examination." 

"  You  are  acquitted,  Antoine,"  said  M.  Lucien  turn- 
ing about  to  light  a  cigarette.  Then,  as  the  boy  was 
about  to  escape,  he  stopped  him  by  the  query : 

"  You  do  not  play  to  your  father,  eh  ?  " 

2D 


418  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

Antoine  hesitated,  taken  aback  by  the  proposal. 
"  There  is  not  time,"  he  murmured. 

"  He  does  not  require  a  concerto,"  said  his  uncle, 
quizzically.  "  And  even  if  you  play  badly,  he  may 
excuse." 

"  He  won't  know,"  said  Edgell.  "  He  only  wants 
a  tune." 

"There.  I  imagine  you  can  remember  a  tune  if 
you  try. 

"  Oh  no,  I  have  forgotten  all  those."  The  boy 
looked  about  him  restlessly. 

"  Bah !  Think  and  you  will  find  a  few.  Ob- 
serve that  I  amiably  absent  myself.  Good-night, 
stupid."  He  embraced  him  quite  kindly,  and  de- 
parted, still  smiling,  through  the  window,  in  the 
direction  of  his  organ-room. 


IV 

"  You  had  better  play  here  in  the  library,"  said 
Madame,  passing  towards  the  inner  room.  "  It  is 
more  comfortable  for  hearing.  Don't  you  think 
so  ?  "  She  glanced  at  the  invalid  Philip. 

"  No,"  said  Philip,  quite  crossly,  to  his  father's 
surprise.  During  the  last  part  of  the  discussion  he 
had  been  silent,  biting  his  finger  in  apparent  im- 
patience. "  It's  stuffy  everywhere  in  the  house.  I 
call  it  rot  to  stay  indoors  to-night ;  there's  a  ripping 
sunset.  Why  should  he  play  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  understand,"  said  Madame,  a  trifle  surprised, 
"  that  your  father  wishes  to  hear  him." 

Philip  glanced  in  his  father's  direction,  and  finding 
Jem's  humorous  eye  screwed  upon  him,  flushed  up. 
It  was  so  extraordinarily  like  the  way  in  which  he 
used  to  manoeuvre  for  attention  in  the  days  when 
his  fits  of  jealousy  of  Antoine  were  not  uncommon 
occurrences  that  Edgell  could  have  laughed  aloud. 
Was  it  credible  that  at  nineteen  Philip  was  still 
jealous  ? 

Philip,  still  rather  red,  persisted. 

"  He'll  be  no  good  to-night,  papa.  He  never  is 
after  a  concert.  I  say,  come  down  to  the  pond  and 
hear  the  night-jars.  You  said  you  would." 

"  And  what  about  Tony  ?  "  said  James. 

"  He  can  go  to  bed.  I  haven't,"  said  Philip  with 
a  marked  effort  at  his  ordinary  manner,  ''got  a 
chance  at  you  all  day." 

"  Strikes  me  you  had  a  pretty  good  chance  if  you 
419 


420  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

had  cared  for  it,"  said  James  :  and  walked  across  to 
the  library.  Philip  lay  a  minute  longer  where  he 
was,  frowning,  yet  with  a  queer  little  smile  attack- 
ing his  lips ;  and  then  rose  and  walked  after  him, 
dropping  into  his  favourite  place  on  the  library  sofa, 
where  his  aunt  made  room  for  him.  She  had  settled 
quietly  to  work,  turning  up  the  light  above  her. 
Music  to  Madame  was  a  useful  item  socially,  but 
it  was  sheer  waste  of  time  to  allow  it  more  than 
half  one's  attention.  She  glanced  once  over  at 
Antoine. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for,  dear  ?  "  she  said. 
"Have  you  not  got  your  violin  ?  " 

"  Yvonne  fetches  it."  He  was  standing  with  his 
hands  behind  him,  leaning  against  the  writing-table. 
He  looked  tired  and  listless  to  a  degree,  and  Jem, 
who  had  taken  M.  Lucien's  accustomed  chair,  had 
a  pang  of  remorse ;  but  he  had  also  an  obstinate 
determination  to  get  his  dues  ;  and  he  occupied  the 
pedagogue's  chair  with  a  feeling  of  annihilating  his 
adversary. 

"  Does  she  know  where  to  find  it  ?  "  said  Madame. 

"  Yes.  But  she  must  also  say  '  paid  for  '  to  Max, 
who  waits  up  there." 

"  What  ?  "  said  Jem. 

"  Max  is  the  dog,"  said  Madame.  "  I  suppose  it 
is  in  your  room  again.  I  wish  you  would  not  feed 
it  there." 

"  I  watch  him,  for  the  crumbs,"  said  the  boy 
rather  eagerly.  "That  was  why  I  told  him  to  trust 
the  biscuits  when  I  came  down  here.  Perhaps  he 
does  not  believe  Yvonne." 

He  looked  anxiously  at  the  door.  She  entered  at 
the  moment. 

"  Le  violon,  monsieur,"  she  said,  extending  it. 
"  And  I  did  not  know  which  music." 

"  I  want  none,"  he  said. 


JAMES  421 

"  And  the  little  Max  he  will  not  take  his  supper," 
the  girl  proceeded  gravely.  "  Though  I  said,  '  paid 
for  '  in  the  English  voice  many  times." 

"  Oh,"  said  Antoine,  shocked.  "  I  must  go.  Do 
you  mind  that,  papa  ?  You  see,  he  has  waited  all 
this  time." 

"Cut  along,"  said  Edgell,  beginning  with  one 
hand  to  unfasten  the  violin.  Yvonne  retired  to  the 
dining-room. 

"  How  long  do  you  bet  she  will  take  to  clear  away 
supper  ?  "  said  Philip  sotto  voce  to  his  aunt. 

"  She  is  always  quick,  darling." 

"  Is  she  ?  Not  when  there's  music  about.  She 
takes  hours  to  dust  when  he's  practising.  Didn't 
you  ever  notice  that  ?  " 

"  You  are  an  observant  boy,"  said  Madame,  a 
little  piqued,  glancing  through  the  curtain  at  the 
girl.  "It  may  take  longer  than  you  think  to  dust 
properly." 

She  kept  awake  to  events,  however,  and  she 
noticed  that  Antoine  delayed  a  minute  or  two  in  the 
dining-room  on  his  return.  Question  and  answer 
passed  in  the  tone  of  confidence  between  the  pair ; 
the  girl  seemed  to  ask  him  something  earnestly. 

"  Chut,  je  ne  peux  pas,"  he  answered  just  audibly, 
and  came  on  to  them. 

"  What  can  you  not  do  ?  "  said  Madame,  as  Edgell 
gave  up  the  violin,  which  he  had  been  absently 
caressing. 

"  She  wants  him  to  play  her  favourite  piece,"  said 
Philip. 

"  No,  she  does  not." 

"  What  does  she  want  you  to  do  then  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Tony,  after  a  pause. 

"  Lying  again,"  Philip  commented ;  but  it  occurred 
to  Jem  that  he  had  heard  the  truth.  He  had  a  quick 
attack  of  discomfort,  and  he  shifted  to  watch  the 


422  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

boy.    The  swinging  chair  made  a  grinding  squeak 
as  he  turned,  and  Antoine  started  round. 

"Look  there,"  Philip  scoffed.  "It's  nothing, 
ducky.  He's  safe  in  the  music-room.  Don't  look 
at  him,  papa.  It's  too  much  for  his  nerves  when 
you  sit  there." 

"  Shall  I  move  ?  "  said  Edgell. 

"  No."  A  swift  hand  touched  his  arm.  "  Stay 
there  all  the  time." 

He  stayed,  as  though  the  touch  had  bound  him  to 
the  spot.  It  had  stirred  him  strangely,  he  could  not 
say  why.  Some  incident  in  the  past  was  half-awake 
by  tone  and  touch,  for  there  swept  through  him  that 
common  feeling  of  a  scene  known  already,  revived, 
re-lived.  No  doubt  Jem  had  often  thought  of  this 
moment  in  that  distant  exile  of  his.  For  homeless 
people,  music  makes  a  home :  and  when  he  could 
tie  his  mind  to  no  definite  beloved  spot,  he  could 
tie  it  to  this  violin,  which  had  been  the  master-spirit 
of  the  only  home  he  had  had.  He  had  wished  and 
imagined  more  than  he  knew  ;  hence  that  feeling, 
no  doubt.  Now  the  time  had  come,  when  he  could 
rest  and  look  and  listen,  with  no  intruding  crowd  to 
share  and  spoil  his  pleasure. 

The  boy  tuned  by  ear,  fastidiously,  yet  with  almost 
startling  rapidity  ;  then  he  hung  his  bow  for  a 
moment  by  his  side,  reflecting.  Then  he  played  a 
quick  weird  wild  tune,  with  the  spirit  of  all 
the  gipsies  in  the  reckless  abandon  of  music  and 
manner. 

"  Don't  like  that,"  his  father  pronounced. 

"  I  know,  but  I  must  play  it.    Do  not  talk." 

They  all  smiled  ;  and  Philip,  who  had  been  watch- 
ing him  with  mocking  curiosity,  checked  the  com- 
ment he  had  prepared.  Through  a  little  modulation 
that  went  dropping  by  quaint  pathetic  intervals,  he 
fell  into  a  Breton  tune,  one  of  those  ancient  airs 


JAMES  423 

which  seem  to  hold  an  almost  savage  sadness.  It 
had  been  long  ago  one  of  his  earliest  attempts  on 
the  strings.  Now  he  played  it  with  a  sort  of  sublime 
carelessness,  as  if  the  bow  was  being  drawn  for  him 
by  an  unseen  force,  not  by  his  own  hand  ;  some 
notes  merely  indicated,  others  of  a  quality  so  extra- 
ordinarily beautiful,  that  Philip  the  scoffer,  who 
inherited  a  sensitive  ear,  lay  limp  and  shrinking 
under  it,  rather  as  though  he  were  being  pelted  by 
stones  instead  of  sounds.  Yvonne,  unseen  in  the 
outer  room,  dropped  the  table-cloth  she  was  folding, 
and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Something  more  cheerful,  darling,"  said  Madame 
in  the  pause,  bringing  her  thoughts  from  the  morrow's 
dinner,  which  she  had  been  earnestly  considering. 

"  Play  that  again,"  said  Jem  Edgell,  low  and 
fiercely. 

"No,  I  can  not — I  shall  not.     Be  quiet." 

To  Madame's  amazement,  he  was  crying,  though 
he  spoke  with  absolute  steadiness.  He  shook  the 
tears  off  like  an  angry  little  dog,  and  entered  with 
barely  a  pause  on  that  test  of  the  tried  artist,  the 
Bach  Chaconne.  Henriette  Lemaure  had  played 
that,  at  her  first  and  only  concert :  but  never  the 
least  like  this.  Her  husband  heard  it  stupefied.  No 
woman  played  like  this,  for  it  was  a  man's  music, 
conceived  in  the  mind  of  a  man.  He  had  never 
grasped  the  difference  before,  but  there  it  was. 
Where  the  strength  came  from  was  no  matter  :  the 
boy  demanded  it  for  his  conception,  and  it  came  to 
him  somehow.  His  strings  dropped  in  the  middle 
under  the  stress  on  them,  or  the  heat  of  the  room  ; 
he  tuned  them  up  in  the  fraction  of  a  pause,  with 
consummate  decision  and  address,  refusing  to  allow 
the  attention  of  his  audience  to  wander  before  he 
took  up  the  great  strain  again.  He  finished  with  the 
same  broad  simplicity,  every  note  glowing  with  life 


424  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

and  force ;  drew  the  last  out  to  its  full  extent,  and 
then  threw  the  bow  down  on  the  table. 

"  Is — is  that  enough  ?  "  he  said  proudly,  turning. 

"  Quite,"  said  James,  and  said  no  more. 

Madame,  whom  the  music  had  stirred  to  some 
recollection  of  a  duty  forgotten,  had  slipped  out  to 
speak  to  Yvonne. 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  Philip  protested  lazily.  "  He's  only 
just  beginning  to  get  into  form.  Come  here, 
kid." 

Rather  to  Edgell's  surprise  the  boy  went  slowly. 
Philip,  without  disturbing  his  comfortable  attitude, 
got  a  good  grip  upon  him. 

"  My  headache,"  said  Philip,  "  is  much  better,  I 
am  happy  to  tell  you."  Then  sinking  his  voice  to  a 
stage-whisper.  "  How's  yours  ?  " 

"I  am  quite  well,"  said  the'  boy,  so  fiercely  that 
Jem  started. 

"  Tem-per,"  said  Philip  in  the  schoolboy  vein. 
"  Just  look  at  him  !  Go  along  and  play  us  a  rouser, 
I  say.  You  could  do  it  now." 

"  I  shan't,"  Antoine  snapped.  But  he  did  not  pull 
away  from  the  grasp  upon  him.  Philip  considered 
him  with  a  gentle  smile. 

"  The  first  thing,"  he  said,  "  was  simply  vulgar. 
The  second  was  rather  decent  in  a  shiverish  sort  of 
way.  You're  not  to  laugh,  or  you'll  get  hysterical." 
He  paused  to  shake  his  victim.  "The  last — well, 
I've  heard  you  play  it  better." 

"  You  have  not,"  said  Antoine  instantly ;  then 
lower,  but  with  the  most  passionate  rapidity  :  "I 
played  that  quite  the  best  for  papa  :  Yvonne  said  I 
shall  not  play  the  best  :  I  said  that  way  was  no  good, 
mostly  of  all  to-night  when  I  play  for  him.  I  did 
not  play  for  you,  at  all,  once  !  " 

"  Oh,  thanks,"  said  Philip,  and  dropped  forthwith, 
as  in  duty  bound,  the  inactive  role  of  critic. 


JAMES  425 

It  was  quite  late  before  James,  who  had  long  since 
sent  the  boys  about  their  business,  roused  himself 
with  an  effort  from  his  twilight  trance  and  went 
out  to  join  his  hostess  on  the  verandah. 

Madame  Lemaure  found  him  very  good  company. 
His  character  was  to  her  new  ground,  which  under 
her  diligent  turning-up,  rewarded  her  continually 
with  little  treasures  of  diverting  oddity.  Such  im- 
passivity as  his  was  a  challenge  too  ;  after  all,  as  she 
argued,  he  could  not  be  without  perceptions,  else  he 
had  never  married  Henriette.  Now,  as  she  pursued 
his  acquaintance,  and  forced  his  reticence  by  steady 
degrees,  she  began  inevitably  to  understand  how 
Henriette  had  been  led  on  :  to  follow  the  stages  that 
had  been  dark  to  her  of  that  old  romance. 

He  relieved  as  well  as  interested  her.  Before  he 
arrived  in  the  house,  she  had  quite  thought  to  have 
to  find  subjects  for  him  laboriously,  and  to  prune  her 
sallies  to  suit  his  British  taste  :  but  she  had  found 
very  soon  that  he  was  quite  equal  to  her,  in  thought  if 
not  in  utterance  :  not  a  little  to  her  surprise,  for  it 
was  her  pet  theory  that  Philip  inherited  his  wit  from 
the  French  side.  True,  his  manner  was  blunt  to  ex- 
cess, his  Americanisms  displeased  her  critical  ear, 
and  he  rode  down  her  pretty  inaccuracies  with  scant 
courtesy.  Yet  when  annoyance  at  this  incited  her 
to  talk  her  best,  he  gave  her  a  sort  of  eager  atten- 
tion which  excelled  flattery  ;  and  relics  of  his  French 
upbringing  showed  here  and  there  in  his  manner  of 
caring  for  her,  in  offering  small  service,  or  in  the 
little  '  politesses '  of  approaching  or  leaving  her : 
though  he  had  an  air  of  being  out  of  practice  in  them 
which  kept  him  fresh  and  simple. 

In  the  interest  of  her  new  plaything,  it  was  quite 
a  long  time  before  Madame  remembered  her  old. 

"  Where  is  Philippe  ?  "  she  said  suddenly. 

Yvonne,  who  was  fetching  the  letters,  answered  her 


426  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  M.  Philippe  is  upstairs,  Madame." 

James  smiled.  "  Sulking,"  he  soliloquised.  "  I 
bet." 

Yvonne  gave  him  an  odd  glance  in  passing,  and 
carried  the  letters  out. 

"  He  is  so  proud,"  said  little  Madame,  with  a  touch 
of  pleading.  "  And,  you  know,  you  have  neglected 
him  to-day." 

"  I  guess  it  won't  hurt  him,"  said  Jem.  But  he 
rose  the  next  instant.  "  Do  you  want  I  should  go 
up  and  pat  him  down  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  He  really  wished  to  walk  with  you  to  the  pond," 
she  said,  looking  up.  "  He  lies  out  there  for  hours 
at  night  sometimes." 

"  Very  bad  for  him,"  Jem  pronounced. 

"  I  know,"  she  said  sadly,  "  but  he  will  not  be 
careful  of  himself." 

"  Think  not  ?  "  Jem  laughed.  "  I  was  not  think- 
ing of  rheumatism  just  then.  There  are  worse 
things  to  catch  at  his  age." 

"  How  then  ?  " 

''Fine  feelings,"  he  drawled,  lingering  beside  her. 
"  He's  quite  moonstruck  enough  as  it  is." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  said  Madame,  and  settled  com- 
fortably against  her  cushions.  "  Go  and  discover 
some  more." 

He  laughed  and  left  her. 

"  Pardon,  said  Yvonne  in  the  hall.  "  Would 
monsieur  go  quietly  at  the  top  ?  " 

"  Baby  asleep  ?  "  said  Jem,  smiling  at  her  openly. 

"It  is  so  possible  that  not,"  said  Yvonne,  too 
serious  to  smile.  "  And  if  he  hears  monsieur  arrive 
to  M.  Philippe- 
James  nodded.  "  Nice  girl,"  he  thought,  and 
went  up  very  gently  indeed.  Big  as  he  was,  he  was 
not  at  all  clumsy,  and  he  could  go  like  a  cat. 

To  his  surprise  on  reaching  the  top  floor,  Philip's 


JAMES  427 

outer  door  stood  open,  and  his  room  showed  dark 
within,  except  for  a  shaft  of  faint  light  through 
Antoine's  open  door. 

James  promptly  confounded  him  internally  for 
keeping  the  kid  awake.  Yet,  stopping  to  listen,  he 
did  not  hear  the  conversation  he  expected.  Only  a 
single  steady  voice  sounded  from  the  inner  room  : 
so  different  from  Philip's  tone  in  ordinary  dialogue 
that  for  a  minute  his  father  hardly  recognised  it. 
Jem  listened  for  an  instant,  standing  without  so 
still  that  not  a  board  creaked. 

"  Poetry,  by  all  that's  remarkable,"  said  he  to 
himself,  and  advanced  with  the  guarded  quiet  of  an 
Indian  in  the  backwoods  to  stalk  his  boys  and 
overhear. 

As  it  happened,  no  stage  arrangement  could  have 
supplied  a  more  perfect  protection  than  the  outer 
darkened  room  for  listening  and  observing  unseen. 
Jem  was  wary  and  did  not  stay  there  long,  for  in  his 
first  hasty  observation  of  the  pair  within  he  saw  that 
the  reader's  object  in  reading  was  all  but  accom- 
plished. The  younger  boy  lay  in  the  abandonment 
of  utter  repose,  dramatic,  as  it  were,  even  in  uncon- 
sciousness. He  was  hardly  covered,  for  the  night 
was  hot ;  and  it  struck  his  father  again  almost  with 
a  shock  to  observe,  now  the  fires  within  were  cut  off, 
how  colourless  and  unsubstantial  he  looked,  as 
though  a  sudden  strong  breath  from  his  open  win- 
dow could  dispose  of  him  bodily.  One  of  his  capable 
delicate  hands  lay  out  in  his  brother's  direction,  and 
Philip  had  it  by  the  wrist,  much  as  if  he  were  com- 
pelling by  contact  as  well  as  voice. 

Philip  had  a  good  voice,  and  his  aunt  had  trained 
him  to  read  well,  for  Madame  Lemaure  would  have 
nothing  slipshod  in  those  who  served  her.  James, 
who  recognised  all  thorough  work,  even  in  the 
departments  of  "  culture  "  he  had  seen  fit  to  mock 


428  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

to  Huntly,  recognised  the  present  performance  as 
adequate.  What  he  was  reading  was  difficult  to  the 
engineer's  simple  mind  :  a  maze  of  words  too  puzzling 
to  thread  at  a  first  hearing,  though  by  its  clearness 
and  careful  accent  it  roused  interest  in  him  and 
curiosity.  He  felt,  in  spite  of  himself,  that  Philip 
understood  and  relished  it :  that  he  was  not  utter- 
ing mechanically  but  thinking  as  he  read.  As  for 
colour,  there  was  none  at  all :  for  the  boy  kept  his 
tone  guardedly  level,  almost  on  a  single  note.  Reach- 
ing the  end  without  a  drop  of  voice,  he  glanced 
sideways  a  minute.  Then,  as  if  the  signs  contented 
him,  he  took  up  another  book  and  read  one  short 
fragment ;  so  different  from  the  first  in  its  simplicity 
and  tranquillity  that  the  father,  lingering  in  the  dark 
to  smile  at  his  '  elegance,'  was  struck  down^with 
ease  additional  by  the  contrast. 

He  read  it  as  before,  clearly,  on  a  level  tone,  but 
at  a  much  slower  pace,  and  it  was  even  more  care- 
fully uttered.  At  the  end  Jem  observed  that  his  eyes 
were  off  the  book,  so  that  the  lucid  lines  had  oddly 
the  effect  of  incantation.  Indeed,  he  guessed  on 
instinct  that  it  was  an  accustomed  charm  ;  though 
upon  himself  it  had  the  contrary  effect,  '  stabbing 
his  spirit  awake '  to  memory. 

And  though  within  it  no  birds  sing, 
And  though  no  pillared  house  is  there, 
And  though  the  apple-boughs  are  bare 
Of  fruit  and  blossom,  would  to  God 
Her  feet  upon  the  green  grass  trod, 
And  I  beheld  them  as  before  ! 

There  comes  a  murmur  from  the  shore.  .  .  . 
The  shore  no  ship  has  ever  seen, 
Still  beaten  by  the  billows  green, 
Whose  murmur  comes  unceasingly 
Unto  the  place  for  which  I  cry. 


JAMES  429 

For  which  I  cry  both  day  and  night, 

For  which  I  let  slip  all  delight, 

That  maketh  me  both  deaf  and  blind, 

Careless  to  win,  unskilled  to  find, 

And  quick  to  lose  what  all  men  seek.  .  .  . 

Yet  tottering  as  I  am,  and  weak, 
Still  have  I  left  a  little  breath 
To  seek  within  the  jaws  of  death 
An  entrance  to  that  happy  place  : 
[^To  seek  the  unforgotten  face 
Once  seen,  once  kiss'd,  once  reft  from  me 
Anigh  the  murmuring  of  the  sea. 

Jem  fled,  softly  and  swiftly  as  he  had  come.  He 
went  down  into  the  garden  and  waited  for  Philip. 
The  little  spark  moving  on  the  lawn,  and  the  well- 
known  aroma  of  his  tobacco — that  pleasant,  mys- 
terious scent  which  had  been  used  to  indicate  to  the 
acute  young  rebel  of  Porslanec  the  quarter  in  which 
danger  lay — showed  the  mature  Philip  now  where 
he  strolled.  Emerging  soon  after  his  father,  he 
stood  tall  and  black  against  the  light  of  the  verandah 
for  a  minute,  and  then  dropped  down  with  the 
swoop  of  one  of  his  favourite  owls  on  to  the  noiseless 
velvet  grass. 

James  always  took  his  time. 

"  Phil,"  he  said  presently  at  leisure,  "I've  been 
eavesdropping." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you,"  said  Philip  the  detective, 
who  had  not  been  deceived  by  the  stalker. 

"Do  you  often  read  to  him  ?  " 

"  Only  sometimes.  I  don't,"  said  Philip  gravely, 
"  let  him  get  accustomed  to  it.  You  see,  since  last 
winter  he  gets  nervous  of  not  sleeping  now  and 
then." 

"  Specially,"  said  James,  "  when  he  plays  last 
thing,  and  goes  to  bed  excited,  eh  ?  " 


430  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  You  couldn't  know,"  said  the  boy  rather  gruffly. 

"  Couldn't  I  ?  Thank  you."  Edgell  drew  his  arm 
close.  "  Strikes  me  you  gave  me  a  pretty  broad 
hint.  Say,  Phil,  I  flattered  myself  you  were  jealous 
of  him,  and  wanted  my  company." 

Philip  gave  a  quick  laugh,  which  exonerated  him 
of  the  charge  as  well  as  any  words  could  have 
done. 

"  Oh  well,"  he  said,  "  the  night-jars  will  be  going 
still  down  there.  They  keep  it  up  for  hours."  He 
had  been  pulling  Jem  firmly  and  gently  in  the  direc- 
tion he  desired.  His  father  had  always  had  the 
intelligence  to  care  for  birds. 

"  Can  he  rise,"  asked  Jem,  stalking  guardedly  after 
him,  "  to  those  things  you  read  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  You  can  never  tell  what  he  rises 
to  or  what  he  doesn't.  I  think  really  it  hardly 
matters  what  it  is — for  sense  I  mean.  It's  just  the 
sound  of  it  takes  him  and  makes  him  sleepy  after  a 
time." 

"  So  you  choose  what  you  like,  hey  ?  " 

The  boy  laughed.  "Well,  Browning's  a  bit  stiff 
for  a  kid  of  that  age,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  That  last  thing  wasn't  Browning." 

"Not  much.  That's  the  other  sort — full  of 
sound.  He's  cracked  on  anything  about  the  sea.  I 
often  read  him  that." 

"  It  sticks  in  your  head,"  said  Jem  reflectively. 
"  I  never  knew  I  liked  poetry." 

"  It  reminds  me  of  him,"  said  Philip. 

"  Him  ?  "  James  was  thinking  of  her,  and  the 
murmuring  shores  of  Brittany. 

Philip  quoted  to  himself  : 

Which  maketh  me  both  deaf  and^blind, 
Careless  to  win,  unskilled  to  find, 
[  And  quick  to  lose  what  all  men  seek. 


JAMES  43i 

"  That's  like  him.  It's  funny,"  said  Philip  suddenly, 
"  when  I  first  read  that,  it  made  me  think  of  some- 
thing grandpapa  said  to  me  ages  ago,  when  I  was  a 
kid,  about  having  a  thing  for  which  you  care  most 
of  all,  which  makes  you  throw  away  the  common 
things  for  it — like  that.  I  felt  such  a  fool  for  not 
having  one  at  the  time.  I  remember  it,"  said 
Philip  solemnly,  "  like  yesterday." 

"  You  have  got  something  now,  eh  ?  " 

"  Since  last  summer.  His  getting  ill  here  started 
it ;  and  what  grandpapa  said  to  me  about  Savigny 
did  the  rest.  Yes,  I  know  what  I  want  now,  right 
enough." 

Edgell  was  silent.  What  a  fool  he  was  !  Phil's 
letters  were  always  so  clever,  so  cool,  that  the 
evidence  of  his  actions  during  the  earlier  part  of 
Tony's  illness  had  been  obscured  by  his  own  render- 
ing of  them.  Jem,  feeling  his  way  down  the  dark 
path  to  the  pond,  and  through  the  tall  bracken  in 
his  son's  wake,  chuckled  mightily  at  himself :  that 
in  all  his  frequent  and  careful  reviews  of  Philip's 
education  in  old  days,  he  should  have  left  out  this 
one  item  :  that  in  all  the  attention  he  had  given 
separately  to  the  characters  of  his  pair  of  sons,  it 
had  never  struck  him  to  consider  how  they  would 
react  on  one  another. 

Standing  lately  in  the  dark  to  hear  Philip  read,  he 
had  had  a  vision  of  the  fine  healer  he  might  become, 
and  had  seen  also  the  quarter  in  which  he  had  learnt 
understanding  and  self-forgetfulness — so  much  more 
important  in  the  great  work  he  had  chosen  than  the 
exact  knowledge  to  which  his  Radfield  prizes  bore 
witness  ;  and  he  recognised  that  in  doing  his  utmost 
to  be  just  to  one  boy,  he  had  arrived  at  injustice 
to  the  other. 

So  while  they  lay  together  in  the  dew-damp  heather, 
and  watched  the  night- jars  leaping  and  whirring, 


432  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

and  enjoyed  the  sweet  remembered  scents  of  the 
English  summer  night  in  companionable  silence, 
Jem  took  his  resolution,  and  coming  back  he  told 
the  boy  straight  and  simply  his  change  of  plan  for 
Antoine  and  what  he  meant  to  do. 

Jem,  like  Tony,  did  nothing  by  halves.  He 
dropped  that  evening  once  for  all  the  autocratic 
attitude  to  Philip  which  he  had  so  unconsciously 
resumed  from  old  habit,  and  took  up  that  of  friend- 
ship instead,  showing  himself  frankly  in  full,  as  his 
manner  was  to  all  his  friends.  The  boy,  sensitive 
and  quick  in  perception,  responded  to  it  instantly. 
Jem  felt  him  older  at  once,  nearer  in  one  surprising 
stride  to  the  man  he  was  so  eager  to  make  him. 

Giving  every  man  his  due  James  started  from 
apology. 

"  I  don't  say  he's  not  a  lot  to  be  thankful  for,"  he 
explained,  "  from  others  and  from  you.  You  made 
a  real  good  effort  to  set  him  straight  with  that  world 
you  and  I  know  at  school.  I  don't  propose  for  a 
moment  he's  anything  to  complain  of  there."  He 
put  a  hand  on  the  shoulder  level  with  his.  "  He's 
had  a  fair  sample  of  that  life,  one  that  most  kids  of 
his  age  love  best,  and  get  plenty  of  good  by  too. 
But  " — he  paused — "  I  am  not  one  to  deny  there  are 
others.  He  laid  his  case  against  it  last  night,  and  I've 
been  trying  to  see  things  straight  for  him  all  day. 
It's  a  jolly  hard  business  for  an  old  fellow  like  me, 
taken  sudden  as  it  were,  and  working  alone  ;  and  on 
and  off  I  got  mad  and  wouldn't  see  it.  I've  funked 
these  bothers,  and  now  they  come  rushing  upon  me 
— serve  me  right." 

The  vigour  of  the  confession  nearly  swept  Philip 
into  laughter  in  the  midst  of  his  surprise. 

"  Well,"  Jem  proceeded  gravely.  "  Now,  there's 
me.  I've  seen  a  bit  of  the  world,  the  biggest  sort  of 
world,  where  things  are  real,  and  not  very  pretty. 


JAMES  433 

First  sight,  you  wouldn't  say  it  was  his.  But  I 
guess  there  are  just  a  few  people  born  wanting  things 
real  from  the  start — won't  stand  imitations  at  any 
price.  I'm  ready  to  believe  that — now." 

He  paused  again  to  draw  breath,  not  finding  it  easy 
to  speak  what  he  thought.  The  finger  and  thumb  of 
the  hand  on  Philip's  shoulder  worked  gently  while 
he  considered,  as  though  slowly  sifting  out  some 
substance  very  fine  and  precious. 

"  I  can't  pull  his  music  to  pieces,"  he  said,  with  a 
spark  of  humour,  "  as  you  did  lately  in  the  library. 
It's  a  trick  I've  never  learnt.  But  I've  a  kind  of  feel- 
ing about  it,  that  your  mother  always  said :  and  I 
know  those  big  things  he  plays  are  all  right,  no 
shoddy.  He  always  could  make  us  cry — I  didn't 
want  to  know  that.  I  want  my  kids  to  do  straight 
work,  no  matter  to  me  what  sort :  and  if  it's  beauti- 
ful on  top — well,  the  Lord's  very  good."  After 
another  grave  pause,  he  went  ahead  again.  "  He's 
pulled  me  over  to-night,  you  see,  with  that  little 
bow  of  his.  Your  uncle  tells  me  he  can  earn  his 
living — yes,  right  away,  if  he  chooses.  I'll  let  him 
try,  provided  he  really  wants  it.  Well  ?  " 

Philip  caught  him  in  a  sudden  spasm. 

"  Dad,"  he  gasped,  "  give  us  a  minute." 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It's  miraculous.  It — it's  true. 
And  it's  the  rummest  thing  I  ever  met." 

"  Hold  up,"  said  Jem  with  a  laugh.     "  What  is  ?  " 

"  The  whole  thing.  It's  the  infernal  simplicity  of 
it  upsets  me.  Is  it  the  sort  of  way  you  do  things  in 
America,  sir  ?  " 

"  It's  the  way  of  reason,  seems  to  me.  When  a 
thing  is  no  use,  I  chuck  it.  It  may  be  a  patent 
method,  but  it  don't  apply.  Over  it  goes." 

"  Is  that  how  you'll  put  it  to  Alexander  ?  "  said 
Philip. 

2E 


434  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

"  Well  ,not  precisely.  I  rather  think  I'll  pay  for 
his  absence  next  term  with  a  freer  mind  than  his 
presence,  though." 

"  Yes.  Simplest  thing  in  the  world."  Philip 
pondered.  "  Don't  believe  it  would  ever  have  struck 
me,"  he  mused  wondering. 

"  You're  not  the  father  of  a  family  just  yet,"  said 
Jem. 

"  No.  But  what  I  mean  is,  I'd  got  it  stuck  in  my 
head  it  was  his  fault.  I  didn't  see  how  it  could  be 
any  one  else's — unless  it  was  mine."  He  sighed. 
"  Do  you  mean  you  are  going  to  take  charge  ?  " 

"  I  shall  for  a  time.  I  must  thresh  it  out  with  your 
uncle  and  his  lot.  I  won't  have  him  hustled,  anyway," 
declared  Jem,  "  however  keen  they  are  to  show  him." 

Philip  laughed  again  with  intense  amusement. 

"  Like  to  have  your  brother  on  the  hoardings  ?  " 
James  asked  him. 

"  No,"  said  Philip.  "  Not  a  bit.  Good  Lord," 
he  added  with  indignation,  "  what  would  the  fellows 
say  ?  " 

"  Nurse  up  the  idea  a  bit,"  his  father  advised,  as 
they  mounted  the  verandah  steps.  "  We  shall  have 
to  get  used  to  it.  Now  get  in  and  change  your 
feet,  or  we  shall  have  you  in  pneumonia  again." 

"  DEAR  G.,"  wrote  Philip  to  his  friend. 

"  When  things  are  actually  happening,  you  can't 
write,  so  stow  it.  I  don't  mind  looking  you  up  at 
Oxford  once  in  a  way,  but  I  mean  to  see  less  of  you 
now  we  have  left  school,  so  I  am  not  coming  to  live 
there.  Papa  and  I  talked  about  it.  I  said  it  was 
much  better  for  you  to  get  on  alone  a  bit ;  and  he  said 
he  didn't  want  to  see  me  a  tame  cat  to  the  aristocracy 
— he'd  always  thought  I  was  too  good  for  that. 

"  So,  instead  of  that,  I  am  going  to  stay  with  my 
grandpapa  in  Paris,  who  is  bored  with  living  alone, 


JAMES  435 

and  who  happens  to  hang  out  rather  near  to  the  best 
school  of  medicine  in  Europe.  It  is  a  bit  awkward 
my  not  knowing  any  of  the  French  names  for  things 
— stinking  things,  I  mean — so  until  they  know  me 
better  down  there,  they  may  think  I  have  been  badly 
educated.  I  shall  have  to  wear  my  hair  long,  because 
it  is  the  local  custom,  but  I'll  have  it  cut  before  I 
come  to  see  you  at  Christ  Church. 

"The  best  of  it  is,  the  kid's  off  his  head  with 
jealousy.  Of  course,  as  I  tell  him,  I  never  deceived 
him  that  grandpapa  liked  me  best.  He's  been  pretty 
average  cracked  lately,  has  the  kid.  He's  not  going 
back  to  Radfield  next  term.  That's  another  of  my 
father's  little  notions.  My  father  really  is  an  original 
sort  of  fellow  in  his  way  :  I'd  rather  like  you  to  know 
him.  He  thinks  Radfield  is  wasted  on  the  kid,  and 
I've  come  round  to  his  opinion.  It  had  really  never 
struck  me  till  he  mentioned  it,  had  it  you  ? 

"  Tony  is  awfully  pleased,  only  he  thought  Alex- 
ander would  miss  him  a  bit,  so  he  wrote  him  a  letter. 
Took  papa  awfully  aback,  because  he  had  been  stew- 
ing all  the  afternoon  to  put  it  nicely  to  Alexander, 
and  then  the  kid  dropped  in  and  explained  that  he 
had  saved  him  the  trouble.  I  laughed.  You  see, 
papa  had  been  telling  me  he  meant  to  run  Tony, 
and  I  refrained  from  smiling  at  the  time  to  spare  his 
feelings ;  so  when  the  above  occurred  I  naturally 
smiled,  and  he  was  vexed. 

"  Dad  roared  over  the  letter,  but  he  wouldn't  let 
me  see  it ;  beastly  unfair  that  was,  because  he  would 
never  have  opened  it  at  all  if  I  hadn't  persuaded  him, 
he's  such  an  honourable  fellow  naturally.  But  we 
really  couldn't  let  it  go  unread,  because  the  kid's 
capable  of  anything.  He  might  have  talked  about 
me  for  all  I  knew.  As  it  was,  he  said  in  a  postscript 
— after  he  had  sent  his  love  to  the  dog — that  he'd 
like  to  see  Alexander  any  time  he  happened  to  be  up 


436  THE  CHILD  OF  PROMISE 

in  London,  provided  he — the  kid — had  time.  Bet 
you  what  you  like  he  sends  him  a  ticket  for  his  first 
concert  next  April ;  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  your 
mater  gets  one  too. 

"  Yours  etcetera, 

"  P.  J.  E." 


Printed  by  BALLANTYNB  <5r>  Co.  LIMITED 
Tavistock  Street,  Covent  Garden,  London 


OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


ItiL    UtfKARY 


A     000  561  955    6 


6037 
S568p 


